


If the Fates Allow

by georgygirl



Series: Across the Universe [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Morning, Drama & Romance, Implied Sexual Content, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers-centric, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgygirl/pseuds/georgygirl
Summary: It wouldn't be Christmas if Steve wasn't having an existential crisis of some kind.On this year's agenda: Confronting the horrible realization that the serum that kept him alive in the ice for seventy years now keeps him from being able to age past the moment when he was first transformed into the peak of human perfection.Which maybe wouldn't be horrible except for the fact that this means he'll remain exactly the way he is as he watches his loved ones grow old and die. And Steve Rogers has no desire to outlive his family.*REPOST*





	If the Fates Allow

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of a story originally posted in 2016. Again, from a file conversion, so the formatting may be a little messed up.

* * *

"Well?"

Steve sighed a little at the tiny onesie Tony had dressed Olivia in.

"Tony—"

"It's an early Christmas present."

"For you or for her?" Steve asked with a raised eyebrow, and Tony gave a little half-grimace and scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah, all right, I know I might be jumping the gun a little—"

"A little?" Steve said, somewhat amused.

"—but it's never too early, really."

Tony dropped his arm and smiled proudly at the picture their little infant made in her outfit, and Steve hesitated a moment then said, "But what if she doesn't want—"

"Uh, she's our kid, so clearly, she's going to be a genius."

Steve scratched at his forehead. "That's...not the point I was trying to—"

"Third generation, how awesome is that? Third generation MIT."

Tony grinned at the little dark red onesie with 'Future MIT Grad' printed on it, and Steve made a face and said quietly, "What if... What if she doesn't want to go to MIT?"

Tony made a 'pfft' sound.

"I mean it. What if she...would rather to go something like Julliard?"

Tony gave him a sharp look, and Steve laughed at the glare that stared back at him.

"It's a good school!" he defended.

"Sure, if I only ever want my daughter to aim as high as 'barista at Starbucks' for a career choice."

"What if that's what she wants to do with her life?" Steve asked.

Tony eyed him warily. "You're just saying that to fuck with me," he decided. "I think you'd be even pissier about that than I would."

"I thought we both agreed we'd support her no matter what?"

"Yeah, no, even you wouldn't get behind that."

"Maybe I would."

"You wouldn't. You're just screwing with me because you think it's funny to get me worked up."

Steve snorted a laugh and added with a bit of an abashed shrug, "Well, maybe a little."

"I knew it," he grumbled, but Steve laughed and snagged an arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah," he said, "but you're cute when you're indignant. Get all huffy and riled up."

"That is a lie. I am ferocious and intimidating."

"Like a Chihuahua," Steve continued like he hadn't heard him.

"Yeah, no, that's how your pal describes you," Tony said as Steve pressed a kiss to his temple. "You can't steal that from him. That's completely unoriginal. It's like plagiarism. Don't plagiarize, Steve. It's tacky."

"I don't think that's what plagiarism is."

"Whatever," he said and pulled away from Steve to scoop Olivia up out of the crib to cradle her against his chest. "I guess in art school it's considered a 'style' or an 'homage.'"

Steve just shook his head and bit back a smile as Tony carried the baby out of her room. Steve followed, making his way downstairs just behind Tony, and they came into the festively-decorated living area. Tony hummed happily and said something about getting the baby something to eat, but Steve stopped in the middle of the room and eyed the giant waste of money that surrounded him.

"Tony, this is too much."

Hands to his hips, he stared at the enormous pile of presents piled beneath the large festive evergreen set up in the living area by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Midtown.

"What 'too much'? Are you kidding?" Tony asked as he came back to stand beside him. "It's Christmas, babe. It's tradition."

Steve just shook his head again, and the poor, skinny kid from the tenement that he would always be deep down chafed at all the festive — and expensive — paper and bows that covered those presents. "Tony, it's just too much—"

"OK, first of all, that's everyone's presents. Second, we can afford it. Third, it's her first Christmas, Steve!"

At that, he bounced the little gummy-mouthed infant in his arms that — Steve didn't care what Tony said — was never going to be a graduate of MIT, but Steve glanced over and couldn't help but smile at the gurgle of laughter his little baby girl let out.

She had his artistic streak in her. He just knew it.

"I understand that, Tony," he said, though he felt himself weaken just the slightest at the mere thought of his daughter and the fact that he had always promised himself that, if he we were ever lucky enough to have children, he would provide to them everything he had never had himself, college included.

(But not MIT. He just...knew her talents weren't going to be in that...kind of discipline.)

Still, he also didn't want to spoil his children, and so he straightened his spine a little and added, "But if we're not careful, she's going to end up completely spoiled with—"

"What? With what?" Tony asked, and Steve caught the way his back arched just the slightest like he was putting on a defensive move. "We're not giving into temper tantrums. We're not giving her everything she wants no questions asked. It's Christmas, Steve!"

He said that last one like a pout, and some of the fight went out of Steve yet again. He dropped his shoulders just the slightest and said, "I know, but—"

"But what?" Tony cut in. "She's too young to really understand it anyway."

"Exactly," Steve said with a nod. "So, what's the point of buying all this—"

"Because it's her first Christmas, Steve!"

Steve stared at him a moment then said, "Did you hurt yourself on that turnaround?"

Tony sighed a little and rolled his eyes. "Look," he said and adjusted the baby's weight in his arm, the baby happily gumming on her hand, "she's too young to realize what it even means, but it's still her first Christmas, and she's our first baby, and I'm pretty sure good parents do stupid shit like this with their first-borns."

"I don't know about good parents," Steve said then added, "and language."

Tony groaned. "She's four months old—"

"She listens to everything we say and—"

"—she's not going to suddenly turn around tomorrow and—"

"—babies and young children pick up on language very easily—"

"—say 'shit' or 'fuck' or 'Jesus Christ, Steve, learn to load the fucking dishwasher' because you know what—"

"—and I don't want her first word to be something like—"

"—she can't talk yet, Steve. She doesn't know how to talk, and yeah, maybe she—"

"—the sort of thing that woulda gotten my mouth washed out with soap by my ma—"

"—listens to everything we say, but she can't repeat it yet. I mean, maybe when—"

"—or something that's going to make us look like completely incompetent parents—"

"—she gets a little older, she might be able to sound out something—"

"—for teaching our child something like that—"

"—that sounds like one of those bad words that you don't want me to use—"

"Is this 'bickering' or 'married people flirting'?"

They both jumped, startled by the appearance of a third voice, and they clamped their mouths shut and turned to face the intrusion. Sam and Bucky, an armload of presents each, stood just on the penthouse side of the elevator, staring at him and Tony. Sam's eyebrow was arched in annoyance while Bucky merely shook his head before he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion and scowled.

"Everything they do is 'married people flirting,'" he said like the entire thing disgusted him.

"Oh, good, the Bobbsey Twins are here," Tony muttered.

"Hey, don't complain," Bucky said and pushed into the room, Sam right behind him. "We come bearing presents for your little tax deduction."

Steve sighed and watched as Sam and Bucky began to deposit the boxes of elegantly wrapped gifts beneath the tree...somewhere... There really wasn't that much room left.

He folded his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits and said, "You really didn't need to—"

"Oh, come on, Steve," Bucky said and stood back up.

He grinned at him, and Steve was reminded not of the cocksure fella that just had to wink and smile to get the dames to fall all over him but of his best pal that had only ever wanted to help him see the world beyond the four cramped walls of his dumpy apartment.

"You can never have enough toys for a kid," Bucky continued, and Sam nodded his serious-faced agreement before he seemed to think better of it and said, "Well, yeah, that's not true."

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned to him. "I'm trying to make a point here."

"Yeah, I get that," Sam said, turning to face him. "But I'm just saying you can buy a kid too much crap in theory. But, I mean, it's different when it's your cute little niece."

Bucky hummed in thought, shrugging his agreement before he said with a flicker of mischief in his eye, "Or your goddaughter."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah. No. I don't think they ever actually made that decision, and no way in hell would they pick you."

"Sure they did."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Did they tell you?"

"No," Bucky said with a shrug, "but I just assumed—"

"Yeah, you know what happens when you 'assume,' right?"

"You turn out to be right?"

"Are we interrupting something?" Tony asked, and Sam pointed at Bucky.

"Hey, you didn't really name this weirdo your daughter's godfather, did you?"

"Uh, who else?" Bucky asked, and Steve glanced at Tony, who glanced back up at him. Both Bucky and Sam seemed to catch the motion, as they next glanced to each other before they turned back to Steve and Tony, more hesitant and cautious than before.

"Who did you pick?" Bucky asked.

Steve exchanged another glance with Tony, giving a slight nod of his head as though to say, _'Now or never' _to him. Tony nodded his understanding before he sighed out a breath and turned to them.

"Uh," he said and cuddled the baby a little closer to him, she still with her hand stuck in her mouth and body turned so that 'Future MIT Grad' was proudly on display, "we kind of actually asked Pepper and Happy if they would...be her godparents."

Sam actually looked a little...annoyed? Hurt? It was hard to tell.

Bucky just looked confused.

"Wait, who?"

"Pepper and Happy," Sam said, something funny — maybe something bordering on jealousy? — coloring the tone of his voice.

"Yeah, I heard that," Bucky said with a roll of his eyes. "Who the hell are Pepper and Happy?"

Sam pointed at Tony. "Uh, his ex-girlfriend and her new fiancé."

"OK, first of all," Tony said, "they're not officially engaged yet. Second of all, why the hell not?"

"Wait," Bucky said and turned to Sam. "You mean the tall, hot redhead and the uptight guy that follows her around?"

Sam nodded. "That's them."

Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head some. "I wouldn't call Happy 'uptight.'"

"I also wouldn't call him more fun than a barrel full of monkeys," Sam replied.

"How is a barrel full of monkeys supposed to be 'fun' anyway?" Bucky asked, and Steve could tell by the tone he was completely serious about the question. "I never got that line. Why would anyone think— Wouldn't that just be loud and annoying?"

"You mean like Stark?" Sam asked and motioned at Tony.

Tony rolled his eyes.

"Yeah."

Tony rolled his eyes again, and Steve reached out and pulled Tony and the baby into his arms then pressed a kiss against Tony's temple.

"What?" Tony asked him with a grumble. "What are you apologizing for? Unless you think I'm loud and annoying, too."

Steve chuckled a little. "Yeah, but even if I did, it's part of why I love you."

Tony harrumphed a little but didn't make a move to pull away from Steve's embrace, and Steve tightened his arms around his little family just a bit more. God, he loved them. He loved them so much and he didn't know what he would do if he ever lost them.

"Anyway," Sam said, pulling Steve out of his thoughts, "so clearly you don't think any of us are good enough to take charge of your precious little magic baby in the event of your early demise —"

"I'm sorry," Tony said and turned a little in Steve's arms so he could direct his attention fully to

Sam, "are you hoping we check out soon or something?"

"No," Sam said, arms folded as he shrugged. "Just saying I don't get why you'd give your kid to an old girlfriend."

"Uh, maybe because my old girlfriend doesn't act like a ten-year-old fighting to be king of the playground on a daily basis?"

"Wait," Bucky said to Sam, "is he saying we're immature?"

"Yeah," Sam said, directing a slight glare at Tony. "He is."

"You're doing a shit job of proving me wrong," Tony assured them from the safety and security of Steve's embrace. Steve bit back a 'Language!' and instead pressed a light kiss to the top of Tony's head, and both Sam and Bucky stared at them with matching looks of annoyance and disgust.

"Sickeningly-happy couples are probably the most disgusting couples of all," Bucky said and Sam snorted a laugh in agreement.

"You got that right."

Tony hummed a little and said, "That sound you hear is the sound of seething jealousy."

"That you got yourself blonde, beefy, and anal-retentive there?" Sam asked and motioned to Steve. "No. Ain't no one on this earth jealous that you got his uptight ass."

Bucky nodded his agreement, and Tony hummed again and said, "You're right. It is a very tight ass. Deliciously tight. Bounce-a-quarter-off-it tight. Want-to-sink-your-teeth-in-it—"

"_Tony!_" Steve said, hoping to distract Tony and keep him from...drawing any more mental pictures of how 'tight' Steve's ass was. He appreciated the defense, but...he really didn't need to hear about how tight Tony thought his ass was.

Not in front of Bucky and Sam, anyway.

"Hmm?" Tony asked and looked up at Steve just as Olivia dropped her hand from her mouth and began to fuss a little in his arms. "Oh, right," he said and turned back to the baby. "I was about to get you something to eat, wasn't I?"

He pulled away from Steve's arms, talking to the baby as he left, and Steve turned back to Bucky and Sam, who were still standing there side-by-side and looking after Tony as he went into the kitchen. After he had, Bucky motioned in the direction he'd gone in and said, "What did her shirt say?"

"Future MIT Grad," Steve said with a sigh.

"Ah," Bucky said with a somewhat confused nod while Sam shook his head a little and said, "Man, that is a lot of pressure to put on a kid."

"She's not going to MIT," Steve said.

"I don't know, Stevie," Bucky said. "Got a feeling that if Baby wants to go to MIT, Princess will damn well do whatever it takes to get Baby into MIT."

Steve folded his arms again, once more tucking his hands into his armpits. "She's not gonna wanna go."

Bucky nodded, seeming to agree with Steve, but Sam frowned and said, "How do you know that?"

He shrugged a little. "Just a feeling."

Bucky nodded some more, and then he let out a breath and shrugged a little. "I mean, not that it really matters. We're not her godparents, so..."

"Buck," Steve said with a sigh, and Sam held his hands up a little like Steve didn't need to say anything more.

"Hey, look, we get it. You made your choice. You'd rather go with the people that are never here and she's completely unfamiliar with rather than, you know, the people that have been here since she was born—"

"Who watched her...be born," Bucky added, but Sam looked at him and said, "It's not cool to brag."

"Who's bragging?" Bucky asked with a squeamish face.

Sam just shook his head. "Point is, we get it. You feel more comfortable leaving the care of your only child — your own flesh and blood — to people that have met her, like, once and live all the way on the other side of the country instead of, you know, people that have, like, played with her and taken care of her and watched her while you and your little princess do your...weird sex games."

"I knew you were a kinky SOB," Bucky said, looking at Steve like he was equal parts accusing him and proud of him.

Sam didn't seem too pleased by the digression, turning to Bucky and saying an unimpressed, "Really?"

Bucky just shrugged. "I knew he had it in him."

But Steve sighed and, getting back to the matter at hand, said, "Look, Tony and I talked about this, and— We just think Pepper and Happy are the...safest choice."

Bucky nodded once again, his face a little twisted like he didn't buy Steve's explanation, and Sam nodded as well, a bit exaggeratedly then made a sort of encompassing motion with his hand and said, "You think—" then pointed to the kitchen where Tony was, "—or you think?"

Steve exhaled a breath through his nose. "We both think."

Bucky made a 'hmm' sound like he still wasn't convinced, and Sam said, "You don't think it's...at all weird...that in the event of your unfortunate and untimely death that your baby girl is going to be raised by your husband's ex-girlfriend? I don't care about how smart or hot or accomplished she is. You're gonna let your baby girl be raised by your husband's ex?"

Steve shrugged. He honestly hadn't really thought about it in those terms before, and now that he had, he...still wasn't all that bothered by it.

"They were friends that tried to make a romantic relationship work but realized they were better off as friends."

Bucky and Sam stared at him a moment before Bucky said to Sam, "Look, I'm gonna give him that one. That man is head-over-heels nuts for him."

Sam sighed out a resigned breath. "Yeah, all right. Fine. He can have it. But I still don't know why they chose practical strangers instead of us."

"I don't know," Bucky said, and Steve realized they were pretty much ignoring his presence at this point. "But I need something to cheer me up. Any of your mom's cookies left?"

"Oh, so you're the one that's been sneaking in and eating them on me."

Bucky just hedged a little and said, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Thor's got something like four stomachs. I mean, I thought Steve could pack that shit away — you know, after they juiced him up — and then I met Thor."

"Oh, yeah, he'll eat you out of house and home," Sam agreed easily then said, "Look, if you promise not to tell Thor, I'll show you where I keep the secret stash."

Bucky scoffed and began to follow Sam back to the elevator. "Yeah, I'm gonna let Thor in on a secret stash of food so he can eat it all on me. I'm not that much of an idiot. I make no promises about Natalia, though."

Sam just grinned at him as he stepped onto the elevator, Bucky following right behind. "Oh, I had a feeling. So, how's that going with—"

The doors closed, the elevator departing, and Steve let out a sigh then turned and went into the kitchen to find Olivia tucked into her highchair and Tony at the counter, chattering at her as he went about preparing her bottle. But he must have sensed Steve had come into the kitchen, as he said, "I take it the Hardy Boys are gone?"

"Yeah," Steve said with a sigh as he sat down as the island, Olivia's highchair beside him. She turned her head and smiled at him when she saw him, gurgling and babbling non-words at him.

"Yeah?" he said and reached over to brush his fingers over the top of her head. "You don't say?"

"Oh," Tony said, "is she telling you all about her plans to be the third Stark to attend MIT? Legacy, Steve. She'll be a legacy enrollee — but the good kind that actually deserves to be there and not some idiot that's only there because Daddy has a lot of money."

Steve grimaced because Tony's back was to him and he couldn't see it. "Sure, honey," he said, his words completely belying what even he could admit was a wary tone of voice.

Tony turned and looked at him, lips pursed and eyes flat. "You're humoring me, aren't you?"

"A little," Steve said with a shrug, still stroking his fingers over the top of the baby's head.

"Why don't you want your daughter to go to MIT?"

Steve let his hand rest atop Olivia's head, and she went back to gumming her hand again. "I just don't think she's going to want to."

Tony stared at him, that odd sort of look on his face that he got when he was stuck for something to say but still didn't agree with what he was hearing. He cocked his head to the side a little bit, lips pulled into a slight smile, and finally said, "What, have you been having secret chats with the space case?"

"If you mean Esmeralda, no."

"Oh, so this is something you're just pulling out of your ass."

He turned back to finish prepping the bottle, and Steve let out a breath and said, "I just have a feeling, Tony. That's all. I just... I don't think you should entirely get your hopes up about Olivia being the third Stark to attend MIT." He shrugged a little and added, "I mean, she's not even technically a Stark."

Tony screwed the cap on the bottle and turned back to Steve. "All right, I know I don't look like I gave birth to her four months ago, but trust me, I gave birth to that baby. She is a Stark."

"She's a 'Rogers,' too," Steve said pointedly and, to shore up his response, reached in and picked the baby up from the highchair to sit her on his lap, cooing at her and bumping the tip of his nose against her cheek as he did so.

Tony watched him a moment then thrust the bottle out at him. "Fine. Then you can feed her the bottle."

Steve snorted a laugh and adjusted the baby on his lap, her small arms waving up and down even though one hand was still in her mouth. "Oh, yeah, that's a real hardship there for me."

"And you can change whatever diapers come of it, too."

Steve took the bottle out of Tony's hand, and he set it on the table then pulled Olivia's hand out of her mouth.

"You know, I think you're better at that than I am. We should play to our strengths. I'll feed her. You can change the diapers."

"Oh, come on, Steve. Don't be one of those dads."

"What dads?"

"The asshole kind that absolutely refuse to change a diaper."

"I don't absolutely refuse," he said and picked up the bottle from the table. "And language."

"That kind of sounds like refusal there."

Steve shook his head a little and offered Olivia the bottle, who greedily and happily took it, slurping down formula like it was the last time she'd ever have it. "No, just... Again, I think we should play to our strengths."

Tony folded his arms, watching Steve in slight amusement. "You're a troll. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"You," Steve said with a nod. "Many times."

"Hmm...well, the sentiment remains. You are a troll. You are not a good-hearted little boy scout. You are a devious little rule-breaker obsessed with worming your way out on technicalities."

Steve just shrugged, grinning. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me."

"Yeah, I'm gonna say 'no' to that one and blame all the hormones raging in my system at the time for clouding my judgment."

"Sorry," Steve replied. "No take-backs."

Tony 'tsked' and shook his head. "Shoulda gotten that prenup."

"Like hell I woulda signed a prenup."

"You ever wanted to get with this sweet ass again, you would have."

Steve just smirked at him, stuck for anything to say, and Tony smirked right back.

"Wait, did you just...let me win that one?"

Steve exhaled a breath. "I didn't let you—"

"You did!" Tony crowed, amazement filling his voice. "Steven Stark-Rogers, I'm going to wear you down yet!"

"Don't count on it," he grumbled and then watched as Tony grabbed something from the counter and came over to the table. "What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" he asked and pulled up a chair to sit in front of Steve and Olivia. "Her nails are getting a little long. I need to clip them before she hurts anyone with them."

"Oh, Tony," he whined and made a face. "Do you have to do that now?"

"She's good and distracted. Less of a chance of mishaps," Tony replied and took hold of Olivia's small left hand.

Steve made another strangled sound in the back of his throat. "Her fingers are just so small, though."

But Tony was having none of it and said, "Yeah, and her nails grow like nothing I've ever seen. Now, close your eyes, you big wuss," as he took Olivia's tiny little pinky between his fingers and positioned the clippers.

Steve didn't wait to see what happened next. He turned his head away and closed his eyes, and he twitched at the high 'snickt' sound the clippers made as Tony trimmed the nail.

Steve could put up with a lot and had learned to accept a lot in his short time as a father, but trimming his tiny little girl's nails was something he...hadn't been able to handle just yet. There was nothing actually disgusting or disturbing about it save for the worst-case scenario Steve could draw up in his head, which was Olivia jerking her hand in some way just as Tony was about to clip her nail and—

Ugh... He shivered. He could handle anyone's blood and tears except his daughter's. And pretty much Tony's, at this point, as well. In fact, there was a terrible and horribly selfish part of him that was tempted to pull rank on Tony and put him on 'permanent leave' from the team. Tony hadn't had any downright horrible mishaps in the field just yet, but that was the thing. He hadn't had any horrible mishaps just yet. Steve didn't know how much longer their luck could hold out, and now he had an entirely new reason to keep Tony safely away from anything that could harm him or, to be frank, kill him.

They had a baby.

Steve twitched at another_ snickt_ of the clippers, and he swore he could hear Tony roll his eyes as he said, "That's a real vote of confidence in my abilities there."

"It's not that," he said, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. "I trust you more than I trust me, that's for sure."

"Hmm..." _Snickt_. "Sweet. Is that why you're squeezing your eyes shut and turning your head away like I'm disemboweling her in sacrifice to some pagan god?"

_Snickt. _

"Jesus, Tony, don't even say that! I just... Her fingers are so small!"

"Yeah, well—" _snickt_, "—they're a little bigger than they were when she was a newborn. Even I'll admit that was..." _snickt_, "...not exactly an easy task. Actually, I think having the other body helped."

_Snickt. _

"How?" Steve asked, still refusing to look at what Tony was doing.

"Hmm?" _Snickt._ "Oh, the dexterity. No, don't fight me. We're almost done."

Steve bit back a 'Tony, be careful' because he knew it would be wholly unwelcome, and he instead just twitched at the sound of another _snickt_ followed in quick succession by another one, and Tony said, "There. All done. Was that so bad?"

"I guess not," Steve replied, still squeezing his eyes shut.

"I was actually talking to the baby, but I'm glad to see you're coming around on my ability to take care of our child."

Steve exhaled a breath and opened his mouth to look at Tony.

"Tony..." he said as Tony pushed away from the table and got up. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Hmm?" he asked and set the clippers aside before he reached into the cupboard for a mug. "Yeah, I know. Ninety-six-years-old and you still don't know how to not put your foot in your mouth when you're talking to people."

"OK, I might have deserved that one."

"Damned right you did," Tony muttered as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "You want some of this?"

"Please," Steve said then looked down to Olivia to see how she was doing with the bottle. He went to pull it away to test if she was still interested in it or was just sucking the formula down because it was there, but she whined and made a motion like she was trying to get more out, and so he let her continue to feed from it.

"Hey," he asked as Tony poured another cup of coffee, "when can we start her on solid food?"

Tony turned to him, a slight smirk on his face, and he brought the mugs over to the table and set them down as he took his chair again and said, "Are you talking mashed bananas and pureed peas or a steak dinner?"

Steve rolled his eyes as Tony pushed a mug over to him. "I think she needs some teeth before she can chow down on a steak."

Tony nodded, and he took a sip of coffee and stared at Olivia's mouth, and after he'd swallowed the sip, he said, "I think she's got one that's going to start coming through pretty soon."

"Really?" Steve asked and looked down.

"Mmm..." Tony said with a nod as he drank another sip of coffee. "You notice the way she's been gnawing on her hand the past day or two? I'm just hoping the crankiness holds off until after Christmas is over."

"Back in my day, they'd tell you to rub brandy on the gums."

"Yeah?" Tony said, and there was a teasing smile on his lips and a glint in his eye, and Steve steeled himself for an insult. "They also used mercury to treat syphilis."

OK, so it wasn't exactly an insult. Maybe it was sort of intended as one, but it was kind of hard to argue with the truth.

"I really don't think it's fair to compare those two," he said with a pointed look in Tony's direction.

"And I think it is," he said with an easy shrug. "But your concern is duly noted."

He took a sip of coffee and stared at Steve like he just dared him to fight him on that, and Steve stared right back and thought very hard about defending the practices of the medical profession from when he was a kid, but even he could admit that their methods had been...somewhat lacking, at least in comparison to how they practiced today.

Today, at least, they didn't rip out a kid's tonsils like it was some coming-of-age ritual. He still blamed that for his less-than-stellar singing voice. Bucky was fonder of the theory that he was just flat-out tone-deaf.

"All right," he conceded, letting Tony win for the second time that morning, "then what do we do about it?"

Tony shrugged and set his coffee mug down. "I thought Mr. Man-with-the-Plan would have it all figured out by now. Sure as hell knew more about pregnancy than I did."

"I didn't really look," he admitted and watched as Olivia drank down the last of the bottle. "I wasn't sure she was old enough yet."

Tony made a 'hmmph' sound as Steve pulled the empty bottle away and set it on the table. "You know, some babies are born with a tooth or two already."

As Steve went about patting Olivia's back to get a burp out of her, he shot Tony a pointed look and said, "Well, I guess fortunately for some of us here, our baby didn't."

That seemed to give Tony pause, and he stared at Steve a moment before he said, "As I recall, she tried to get her morning feeding off of you once, too."

One hand steadying the baby, Steve inadvertently reached up and rubbed his nipple to soothe a phantom pain that suddenly cropped up at the memory of that.

"You know, I really didn't think I'd have to worry about that," he admitted as Olivia let out a small burp with not one drop of spit-up to show for it. Thankfully.

"Hmm...well, the more you know," Tony said with a shrug. "Think she would have gotten a little frustrated once she realized she couldn't get anything out of you. Let's face it, she's got your appetite."

"I'd rather she not try to get anything from me at all," he said and rubbed his nipple some more.

Which...really wasn't the smartest move on his part, as his nipples weren't terribly oversensitive, but he really didn't need them poking out of his shirt at seven-thirty in the morning if he could help it, nor did he need to do anything that might have the unintended consequence of calling his dick to attention, either. So far so good on the latter front.

He dropped his hand and reached out to grab his mug of coffee, and as he swallowed a gulp of hot liquid, Tony said, "Hey, if you put that baby back in her crib, I can give you all the help you want rubbing those nipples."

Steve set his mug down and gave Tony a 'disappointed' look. "Tony..."

"Hey," Tony said and sat back, "you're the one sitting there tweaking your nipples—"

"I'm not tweaking— I was just— Oh, shut up."

Tony let out a loud laugh and got up from his chair. "You want anything to eat?"

"What are you offering to make?"

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Eggs Benedict and blueberry crepes with whipped cream."

"Hmm... yeah, you wanna try translating that from 'asshole' for me?" Tony asked as he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs.

"French toast?" he tried.

"Much more manageable," tiny said with an approving nod.

As Tony went about compiling the ingredients for French toast, Steve watched him a moment then said, "If you want, I could make it for a change."

"Don't threaten me like that," Tony replied without turning around, and Steve laughed.

"I mean it. I could try. I'm not that bad."

Tony made a contemplative humming sound then said, "No, honey, you are. You remember that time we were at the cabin and you tried to be nice and make breakfast and you need up having to go out to McDonald's and get some McMuffins?"

"You know, they say it's the thought that counts," he defended with a mutter.

"And it was very thoughtful of you. You're still more of a bother than a help in the kitchen though."

As Tony cracked a couple eggs into a mixing bowl, Steve looked down at Olivia, and he brushed a hand gently over the top of her head and, as she turned her head to look up at him, he smiled a little and said, "Well, at least you still love me."

Thought how much longer he had until she was making fun of his abilities, too, he couldn't say. Probably not as long as he would like.

She was Tony's baby, too, after all.

~*~

Steve loved being a dad.

He wouldn't go so far as to say he loved everything about being a dad (diapers and spit-up, though he accepted as a natural fact of life, were still both god-awful in their own right), but he loved being a dad. He loved taking care of his daughter and feeding her and bathing her and playing with her. He loved watching her grow — watching as she discovered new things about the world around her. He loved her giggles, and he'd soon come to see his daughter's laughter as the best sound in the world. Her cries, especially if it was a cry where she'd hurt herself somehow, broke his heart.

She slept through the night now in her own room, which meant Steve didn't have to get up in the middle of the night to calm her down anymore, and there was a tiny part of him that missed that — that missed that time they had together when the sky was dark and the building was asleep and it was just the two of them in the living room, JARVIS playing quiet music as he tried to rock his fussy little baby girl back to sleep. He didn't miss the crying and the fussing at two o'clock in the morning — Tony, even after turning back to his original form, had still been so tired that he slept right through it — but he did miss the swaying and the music, did miss that time they spent together. Through the hushes and the shushing, he would tell her stories about himself when he was younger — things he'd done or things he'd wanted to do but was unable because he was confined to a bed, scrapes he and Bucky had gotten into, his mother—

His one regret.

The one person from his old life that he wished could have met his new family. His mother.

(Bucky, of course, already had, and was seemingly actually a little upset that he wasn't even considered a possibility for caregiver in the event of his and Tony's death; Peggy he had every intention of introducing her to come the spring when she was a little older and better suited to traveling.)

He maybe hadn't thought about it at the time, but looking back, he was pretty sure his mother had had a suspicion that he didn't just like girls. He did like girls. He'd always liked girls. It was just... he liked fellas, too. But it was easier to hide that and tamp those feelings down because he liked girls and he was just as happy to go out on a date with a girl (however...little...that happened). But he was pretty sure his mother knew that he'd looked at fellas, too (he maybe had left a tablet of sketches out in the open one time, and he was pretty sure that she'd found it — and this was before art school, so he couldn't even play it off as that), and so he was pretty sure she wouldn't be entirely surprised by the fact that Steve had taken up with a fella. Maybe a little disappointed, but not surprised. He was sure she'd like Tony, though — sure she'd like that Tony was sweet and kind and had a good head on his shoulders. And more than that, he was sure she'd like that Tony didn't take any of his shit and gave back as good as Steve gave him.

But he also liked to think that she would adore Olivia.

In fact, he was pretty sure that was where her disappointment would stem from. Not that Steve was 'bi,' as the future had reassured him, but that in taking up with a fella, he was effectively doing away with any chance of having a family — having children — of his own. He knew his ma would want him to get married and have children — oh, she'd probably be very much in agreement with Esmeralda on that front — and she would see his being with a fella as taking away from that. To be honest, he wasn't sure how his ma would react to what had happened to them over the course of the last year — how she would react to a son-in-law that had been turned into a woman and had given birth to her granddaughter — but he liked to think she would...come to accept it, so long as Steve was happy.

Which he was. God, he was, and that...that scared him sometimes. Because that which was given

could also be taken away, and Steve was no stranger to closing his eyes one moment and opening them back up the next to find many, many years had passed him by. When it had first happened, when he had first woken up, he would worry every time he closed his eyes that he'd open them again to find himself displaced in time once more. He'd...sort of struggled a bit with sleep at that point. Told himself it was because he'd slept for seventy years and was well-rested enough, but that wasn't the real reason. No, the real reason was because he was afraid if he did fall asleep, he'd wake up to find another seventy years had passed him by, and he just...didn't want to have to deal with that — to attempt to reacclimate to another time once again. He supposed he could do it, if given no other choice, but he sure wouldn't be happy about that.

But now...

Now it was an even more terrifying ever-present fear in the back of his mind because he had a life here now. He had a reason to stay. He had friends and a job and a purpose.

And more than that, he had a family.

Well, two, to be honest. He had his Avengers family — those people that fate (and Nick Fury) had thrown together in what — if he was using the term correctly — was a 'Hail Mary' pass attempt to save the world. On the surface, they all seemed to have nothing in common, but time spent together — starting with that shawarma Tony had suggested — proved otherwise. Tony had opened the tower to them as a place to stay and a base to work from, and they'd started avenging in earnest — first sanctioned by SHIELD and then as their own entity once SHEILD had...ceased to be. For reasons.

So, there were the Avengers, whose ranks grew slowly but surely with the additions of Sam and Jim Rhodes and now Bucky with Maria Hill as their liaison and Sharon Carter as a very tough sell that appreciated the offer to join the ranks but felt she was of better use elsewhere. At least with her they had a CIA connection, though, if they ever needed it.

So, the ranks of the Avengers began to grow, increasing the size of that family, but he also had something he'd always wanted but was never sure he'd get: a family of his own.

He'd thought Peggy was his first and last chance at a real family life, and then Tony had happened. Tony and his manic ways and his brilliant mind and his generous heart. He'd agreed to a date with Tony, which had turned into another date and then another, and then before he knew what was happening, they were living together, and he was asking Tony to marry him at two- forty-seven in the morning after Tony had spent the past forty-two hours on an inventing spree. He'd consigned himself to not having children at that point not because of Tony or because of the fact that he was in a relationship with a man but because they were both Avengers and it was a dangerous business they were in. There were no guarantees in life — Steve could definitely attest to that — and there was no guarantee that he or Tony would always come back. Well, more he might not come back. So long as there was breath in his body, Tony would make it back from the field.

But he was an orphan. Tony was an orphan. They both knew what that was like, and Steve would never wish that kind of pain or struggle on any kid.

And then Esmeralda had happened — Esmeralda with her somewhat sweet and somewhat condescending attitude — and Tony was somehow inexplicably pregnant, and Steve...was maybe not as supportive as he could have been. He'd thought nothing of wanting to get rid of it — not out of spite or anything completely awful but because Bruce had laid out the facts for him that Tony's body was not suited to something that would tax it so. He'd done a whole host of damage to himself over the years, and a pregnancy put a strain on the healthiest of bodies. Bruce couldn't guarantee that Tony wouldn't...suffer ill consequences of Esmeralda's little amusement.

But there was a catch — there was always a catch — and Esmeralda insisted that Tony couldn't get rid of it without killing himself. Which was...yeah, not the sort of thing Steve wanted to think about or deal with, but then Tony dropped the bombshell on him—

He wanted to keep the baby. He wanted to have the baby. He wanted to be a parent, with or without Steve's help. And Steve...

Steve found himself going to be a dad.

He could admit there was a tiny part of him that was elated and excited by this — ecstatic over the fact that he was going to be a father. But he was terrified, too. Not necessarily because he didn't know the first thing about being a dad — he didn't — but because he was an Avenger that lived in a tower of superheroes. He wasn't a guy that had a regular nine-to-five with weekends and holidays off. His job was dangerous — his life was dangerous — and he couldn't guarantee that he was always going to come home.

And yet, he was going to be a dad, and there was a part of him that didn't care about the logistics and the logic — didn't care about the rational side of him that did nothing but work to strip away his fun. He didn't care because he was going to be a dad. He was going to have a baby — all right, Tony was the one that actually did all the work — to mold and shape and watch as he grew into adulthood. He'd wanted a son. He'd just assumed a son would be easier to raise (Clint, weirdly enough, had said something rather similar that sounded...kind of like he was speaking from experience), though he'd be lying if he said that was the only reason. He still remembered that Christmas he'd spent in the future — what he now accepted was his future — but he thought it was too good to be true that that was his future. That he would get that. It didn't matter how many things had matched up. It didn't matter that he'd gotten Tony. He just couldn't let himself believe that the life he led now and the one he'd visited a long time ago were one in the same.

But they were.

There was no question about it. It hadn't been a dream — it had been a...oh, who knew what it was. Some sort of weird time displacement thing. He supposed he'd find out in due time. Until then, the most he could definitively say was that it hadn't been a dream and he had seen his future and interacted with his future and met his husband and his daughter years before, well, either one of them had even been born. Sort of. From his perspective, anyway.

Tony might have been the one to do the work, but he'd been pretty much dead set against reading anything that could be of benefit to him. Steve supposed he understood. Hell, Tony was probably in shock for almost the whole pregnancy, still not believing that it was really happening to him. So, that left Steve to pick up the slack, and he picked it up with aplomb, reading and researching everything he could get his hands on or what came to mind. He wanted to know. Pregnancy and childbirth had been pretty much a mystery back in his day — something best left to the 'professionals.' There were a great many things he loved about the future, but one of the things he loved most was how accessible information was. Everything and anything he could possibly want to know was at his fingertips morning, noon, and night. And so he read. And researched. And planned. And calculated. If Tony didn't want to know, then Steve was going to learn enough for both of them. And it was a good thing he had because Tony, even if he'd never admit it even to himself, had relied on him for information and guidance. No, Steve didn't know everything he was doing, but he knew a lot, and online videos — such a great help. It wasn't always easy getting a visual from words printed on a screen, and the demo videos he'd found online were a godsend. That didn't mean he'd gotten everything on the first try. Diapers in particular were a bit tricky, as was bathing, at first, when she was so young and slippery. He liked to think he was an old pro at things now, though he knew there were still stumbling blocks that lay ahead.

But that was a worry for another day. It was Christmas Eve, and unless Hydra or AIM or some megalomaniac with a massive chip on his shoulder and some time to kill decided to spoil the holiday, Steve had nowhere else to be but at home, lying on the floor with his daughter, his heart melting every single time she pushed herself up onto her elbows and giggled in delight.

Tony was in the kitchen, cursing to himself in his attempt to master the art of baking Christmas cookies. Because clearly if he could build an armored suit in a cave and give birth under less than ideal circumstances, surely he should be able to produce a batch of Christmas cutouts.

Steve had offered to help. Tony said he'd call him if he needed anyone to burn the cookies for him. Steve would have taken offense, but even he could admit Tony had a point.

So, he took the baby into the living room for some play time, assuring Tony that yes, he would even change a diaper if he needed. So far, he'd lucked out and she'd been dry and happy, but he knew his luck wouldn't hold out forever.

Unless he could put her down for a nap and then hope Tony was done with his baking project by the time she woke up. Or one of the other Avengers showed up so he could con them into guilt them into encourage them to develop some much-desired life skills.

Hey, you never knew when knowing how to change an infant's diaper might come in handy.

After what he assumed had been a good hour of play time on the floor, he glanced up and over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the mild, dreary day that lay before them. He got to his feet then reached down and scooped Olivia up from where she lay on her tummy, and she gurgled and babbled something, and Steve said, "Is that so?" and kissed her cheek as he carried her over to the window. He adjusted her in his arms so that she could look out, and he said, "JARVIS, could you play us some Christmas music? No—"

"_I have already deleted the vocal stylings of Frank Sinatra from the songs programmed into the Christmas playlist, Captain, as per your request_."

"Pretty sure it was to have them deleted from the earth," he muttered.

"_I do actually believe it was the tower's main server. However, as Sir has been known to enjoy a tune by the man often referred to as the Chairman of the—_"

"He was a skinny punk from Hoboken with a nasally voice," Steve said, cutting JARVIS off. "Still don't know what Dorsey was thinking hiring him."

OK, he didn't hate Frank Sinatra — he'd never met the guy — but he wasn't a huge fan of him as a singer, and to wake up in a world that revered him to the degree that it did was just...odd. Like the world had been taken over by a bunch of screaming bobby-soxers. Hey, he was a skinny punk from Brooklyn. Maybe if he'd had a half-decent singing voice, he could have done something with that and had a bunch of screaming bobby-soxers chasing after him, too. People didn't care what you looked like so long as you were famous.

Maybe in his next life.

JARVIS didn't respond to that, instead preferring to strike up the seasonal tunes with Bing Crosby's version of 'White Christmas' — the remake he'd done after the war, not the one Steve had spent the war holiday seasons listening to. It was close, but not quite the same, and honestly, Steve preferred the original version. Not because it was the one that reminded him of the past but because he just thought it was better.

"Very cute," Steve said, gazing outside at the rain-dampened skyline and what he knew to be

pretty warm temperatures for this time of year. "Not much chance of that happening this year, is there?"

JARVIS didn't say anything, and Steve directed Olivia's attention to the rain droplets splattered on the window for only a moment before he felt her tense up in his arms a little, and he looked down at her and said, "Really?"

The smell that greeted his nostrils told him that yes, really, and he threw a glance at the kitchen and wondered if Tony...

"Come on," he murmured to his suddenly smelly daughter. "Let's go see if we can sweet-talk Papa."

He moved away from the window, stepping around the large, lighted evergreen and the massive pile of presents underneath it. He made headway into the kitchen, Tony's earnest attempt at making cookies greeting him in arrival. He was at the island counter, flour and cookie sheets and other implements of destruction spread around him, and Steve called out a cheerful, "Need any help?"

"I told you," Tony said without looking up, "if I need someone to burn the cookies for me, I'll call you."

"Helps if you get them onto those trays first," Steve said and nodded to the empty sheets stacked on the stovetop.

Tony glanced up and scowled at him, which lasted only a second before a certain aroma hit his nose, and he glared at Steve and said, "No."

"Oh, come on. You're so much better at it than I am!"

"Nope," Tony said and peered at whatever he was reading on his tablet — a recipe, he supposed — one hand on a rolling pin and the other reaching into the pile of flour. "I told you — you feed that baby, you take care of whatever comes of it."

"I don't think it's the bottle I just gave her that did it."

Tony just hummed and shrugged, grabbing some flour to rub over the rolling pin, his eyes still on his tablet. "She has your appetite and probably your metabolism. I wouldn't be surprised."

"She likes it better when you take care of those things."

"Well, then I guess you'd better work on it so she likes us both equally."

Tony smacked the rolling pin down on the pile of dough and began to roll it out — or attempted to roll it out as half the dough seemed to stick the rolling pin, and Tony scowled and threw some more flour on the dough to try to remedy it. Steve watched him struggle for a moment before he said, "Please?"

"Get out of my kitchen."

Steve sighed, the smell starting to get to him. "All right. But if I don't put her diaper on the right way and it falls off at an inopportune time, it's all on you."

"No, it's on you for being an idiot. Get out of my kitchen and go put a fresh diaper on my baby."

"Yes, sir," he muttered and turned to go back into the living room.

He carried the baby upstairs and into her room, and he sighed out a groan and said, "OK, kiddo, I don't like this any more than you do."

He set her down on her changing table, and luckily, her eyes were drooping no matter how much she fought it.

"That's OK, dolly. Don't try to fight it. Just let the sleep come over you. Makes it a lot easier for both of us."

He grabbed what he needed, making sure Olivia didn't do something stupid like roll off the table, and he set everything up so he could easily grab and set about changing the diaper, stifling a gag as he pulled the dirty one off and set it aside.

"You know," he said as he cleaned her off, her eyes closed and her head turned to the side, "you're going to be doing this for me someday. Me and Papa, actually. I promise I'll try to make it easy for you. I make no promises about him."

He put a fresh diaper on her, making sure to powder her as he did so, and he snapped the dark red MIT onesie back together and said, "Well, I guess you're down for the count," at the now-sleeping infant. "Now who am I supposed to play with?" he teased and picked her up to carry her over to the crib. He set her down then leaned over and kissed her forehead before he finished cleaning up the mess from the diaper-changing — and Tony said he was a slob that would gladly live in his own filth! — and went back downstairs.

He made a brave attempt at going back into the kitchen where he saw Tony was making precise cuts into cookie dough with a candy cane shaped cutter, and he slipped in and took a seat at the island opposite Tony, who glanced up for only a second before he went back to his job.

"Was it that difficult?"

"No," he admitted.

"You washed your hands, right?"

"Now why would I do that?"

Tony gave a sharp look up at him, and he grinned in return.

"Yes, Tony. I'm not a complete slob."

"Humph," Tony muttered and made the last cut into the dough. "OK, maybe not complete. Look, once I get these cookies onto the sheet, sprinkle some of that sugar on them and stick them in the oven."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked as Tony pulled away the scraps of dough. "That might exceed my abilities."

"I'm sure even you can't screw that up."

Steve nodded then said, "And how do you plan on getting them off the table top?"

Tony smirked at him. "Oh, think you're so smart, do you?" he asked then produced a spatula. "I'm very carefully going to scoop them off."

And, to prove his point, after he'd stripped away all the excess scraps of dough, he carefully began to pry off a candy cane shaped cookie, sliding the flat part of the spatula beneath and trying not to either tear or scrunch up the cookie. Steve watched, bemused, as Tony...not so much struggled as put more time and effort than necessary into getting the piece of raw dough off the tabletop, and after prying it free, he carefully set it onto a baking sheet lined with some kind of white paper, sliding it off and arranging it to make room for more.

"See?" he asked with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Forget building a suit in a cave," Steve said. "That's impressive."

Tony just stared at him, mouth flat, one hand to his hip while the other held the spatula and said, "If that's the attitude you're going to take, the door's that way."

He pointed to the living room with the spatula, and Steve laughed and said, "No, I'm serious. That's some precise and detailed work! I commend you for it, Iron Man."

"Get out of my kitchen."

Steve laughed again and said, "I'm sorry. I'll stop. I promise."

"Yeah? One more crack, and you're gone," Tony said and moved to scooping up what looked like a cutout of a Christmas tree.

"Gone where? Say, you wouldn't kick a fella out onto the street on Christmas Eve, wouldja Mister?"

"That fella keeps talking like some old-timey street urchin from Hollywood's version the Lower East Side, I might."

Steve chuckled lightly and reached out to pick up a small shaker of colored sugar. Taking care to note that the top was still on, he shook it a little to watch the green-colored crystalline granules shift around in the tight space, and Tony shot him a look as he scooped a Santa-shaped piece of dough off the table and said, "You can't tell me they didn't have colored sugar in your day."

"I'm not from the stone age," he said with a smirk and set the shaker back down. "They had a lot of stuff in my day, believe it or not. We even had television."

"You _technically_ had television," Tony countered and began to scrape up another candy cane.

"It was still television," Steve said with a shrug. "You're also not the first talking robot man I ever saw."

"Oh, god," Tony muttered, and even though his focus was concentrated on the tabletop where he was scraping up the cookies to set onto the baking sheets, Steve just knew he rolled his eyes at that.

"You're not talking about that one from the World's Fair, are you?" Tony asked like it pained him to ask the question.

"Yes?" Steve said after a beat, and Tony looked up at him.

"Do not ever compare what I designed and created with my own two hands to that pile of vacuum tubes and scrap metal."

Steve laughed and glanced around for a tablet or some electronic device. "Oh, come on, Tony. That was pretty neat to see in 1939! It could move. It could talk. It could even smoke."

"It was a gimmick," Tony muttered and went back to his cookies.

"Yeah, but it was a really neat gimmick," he said and went to take Tony's tablet, seeing no other alternative.

"Touch that to pull up some crap video about Electro the Garbage Man and you can show yourself out of my building."

Steve laughed and sat back, leaving the tablet alone. "You're just jealous that someone came up with the idea before you did."

"Oh, yeah, sure. They had flying suits of armor in the '30s. My old man couldn't even get a car to fly in the '40s."

"Yeah, but it was neat to see it for the two seconds it stayed in the air."

Tony harrumphed and didn't dignify his comment with any other response except to say, "Sprinkle sugar on those cookies," as he pointed to the sheet of unbaked shaped pieces of dough. "And don't just dump a glob on them. Try to make it look nice, all right? Put some of that artistic talent to use."

Steve picked up a shaker of green sugar and began to sprinkle it over the cookies, taking care to sprinkle it evenly and uniformly.

"Is artistic stuff hereditary?" he asked as he sprinkled sugar over a Christmas tree.

Tony glared at him as he went about reforming the scraps of dough to get a couple more cookies out of. "I see you plan on sleeping on the couch for the indefinite future."

"No," Steve countered, setting down the green shaker to pick up the red one. "Just asking a question."

He sprinkled some red sugar on a candy cane, and Tony stared another moment and said, "You're a goddamned troll."

"Tony, she might not want to follow in your footsteps."

"Doesn't mean she'll follow in yours either."

"Agreed," he said and gave a firm nod as he sprinkled sugar on a Santa. "But I just...I don't think you should get too set on her going to MIT. That might not be what interests her. She might be more interested in law or medicine or music."

"Yeah, well, at least two of those she's guaranteed to find a career in."

Steve laughed. "And you wouldn't support her if she decided she wanted to go into music. She could be the next, uh..."

He blanked on the name of a famous female musician, and Tony snorted a laugh as he rolled out some more dough.

"Eh, you tried, old man. Can't say you didn't give it your best shot."

"Can you name any?"

"Sure."

"Yeah? Name one."

Tony shook his head. "Not telling. You gotta figure that out on your own. I know you can. You know how to Google. And if not, there's always JARVIS."

"JARVIS is going to help me?" he asked doubtfully.

"Sure. Now, go stick that one sheet in the oven. J, start the timer as soon as the old man does what he's told."

"Cute," Steve muttered but still picked up the sheet of decorated cookies and went over to the oven.

He found himself feeling kind of antsy after that — he had neglected his morning run — and seeing how he was unable to sit still and wait for the cookies to bake, Tony told him to go do something because he was driving him nuts, and after stomaching what ended up being a few minutes of _Highlander_ on TV (and the scene, of course, where the wife grew old while the Highlander himself stayed young — Steve...maybe almost cracked the remote at that but wouldn't let himself think about why), he found his way down to the gym. It was quiet down there — no one save for him — and he took that opportunity to run through some stuff he didn't need a partner for. He wrapped his hands and spent some time with the heavy bags and did some calisthenics after that. He thought about running one of the simulations Tony had written for them, but a check of the time showed it was nearing lunchtime, which meant Olivia was awake again, and he figured he could play with her until it was naptime again.

He was just wiping the sweat off his neck when Thor showed up in the room, and after he boomed out a jolly, "Hello!" he asked if Steve would want to run through some practice maneuvers with him.

"Uh, actually, I was just about to see about lunch," he replied. When he'd just come out of the ice, he might have put off his wants to spend time with Thor — afraid of saying no and not really having anything better to do. But he'd worked off some of his excess energy, and it was time to go see his family again, and even Captain America wasn't crazy about working in any way on Christmas Eve.

"I understand," Thor said, jovially and good-naturedly and yet somehow with the kind of authority that spoke to his age and wisdom. "There are a great many things the people of Asgard and Midgard share in common, perhaps the most important of which being the bonds of family."

Steve tweaked a smile at him and set to unwrapping his hands.

"And I wish to extend to you that when your bonds have severed and those that you call family have long since passed, you are more than welcome in the halls of Asgard to spend your days..."

Thor continued to prattle on about all the merriment Steve could find on a trip to Asgard, but he stopped in the middle of unwrapping his left hand and stared at Thor a moment, attempting to process the words he was speaking. He got to a certain point with them — a point he didn't much care for — and as Thor continued to go on about...something...Steve said, "Wait, wait, hold on. What was that about—"

"I assure you it was all in good fun," Thor said with a knowing smile, as though he thought Steve was going to take umbrage at something he'd said.

"No," Steve said with a slight shake of his head. "Not that— I mean what was that about bonds severing and family passing?"

"Oh!" Thor said brightly. "I just mean to say, my friend, that you are most welcome to spend your days in the halls of Asgard once your loved ones have departed—"

"Departed? You mean died?" he attempted to clarify.

"Yes, of course," Thor said easily. "It is unfortunate that the average life on Midgard is so short. Asgardians, as you know, live for thousands of years. Your lives on Midgard exist in but the blink of an eye for us, as you will eventually come to find out."

Steve slowly finished pulling the tape off his hand, staring at Thor's earnest and dare he say excited face as he tried to work out how to even respond to that.

"What do you mean I'll come to find out? What are you talking about? I'm from Mid— I'm human. I have the same life expectancy as anyone else from Earth."

He balled up the wrap and tossed it aside, and Thor frowned a little and said, "I am sorry. I thought for certain I had heard our friend Bruce discuss the fact that your body does not age in the same way as your fellow Midgardians — a product of the potion that gave you the physical strength and endurance that you were not born with."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut a second, holding his breath as he tried to push that conversation back into the abyss he'd been able to keep it stored for the past couple months. He sort of remembered Thor being there — floating around as he inspected the different pieces of equipment and samples that dotted Bruce's lab — when Bruce had had that discussion with him, the one where he hadn't been able to mask his worried, brown eyes as he'd said, "_You're not aging, Steve. At all. I'd say you haven't aged a moment from the procedure. The scans show you as an exceedingly healthy twenty-five-year-old male_."

And he'd scoffed because what else could he do? "_Twenty-five_," he'd muttered in response. "_I'm almost a hundred_."

"_Not according to this. You were born nearly a hundred years ago, but these scans would swear in a court of law that you're twenty-five and not a day over_."

Yeah, now that he thought about it, he kind of remembered Thor standing pretty near to him as he'd stared back at Bruce, completely stuck for anything to say other than, "_So, what's that mean?_"

And then, Bruce had sighed a little, and he'd pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before looking straight at Steve and saying, "_It means barring throwing yourself out of the wrong plane at the wrong time, you've achieved immortality."_

He opened his eyes again to look back at Thor, and he stared straight at him and tweaked a small smile he didn't feel and said a somewhat deflated, "Thanks."

Thor's concern for him turned a little sad, and he reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder and said, "Are you all right, my friend?"

"Yeah," he said with an exhale of breath. "Yeah, sure."

Thor stared at him a moment, and the sad concern softened a little as he said, "You have achieved what your kind has struggled to attain for generations."

"Lucky me," he muttered only for Thor to squeeze his shoulder.

"You do not have to join me in Asgard if you do not wish. I merely offer it as a suggestion, for I know how much you value the trust and friendship the Avengers have found in one another. I consider you my brother-in-arms and hope that you feel the same."

"Of course," he replied, a little more heat in his words this time, and Thor smiled a little and seemed to understand the feeling that was driving Steve's lack of enthusiasm.

"I know how much you care for your Anthony. He is a good friend and a fine warrior. He is also your bonded, and I do know how much he means to you. I am sorry you must go so many years without him by your side. It is terribly unfair that the Midgardian magic that allowed for you to live so that you might meet your bonded when you might normally be in the twilight of your life will make it so that you will long outlive the ones you love most."

Steve just nodded, unsure what he could even say to that, and Thor tweaked a sad smile at him.

"But Midgard can rest assured knowing its champion will be around to defend it for many years to come."

"Yeah," he said, snapping out the word with more annoyance than he meant, "because that's all I am, right? Just a lab experiment that has to spend the rest of my life paying back all the time and effort and money that was invested in me."

Thor's face folded into a frown, but he didn't remove his hand from Steve's shoulder. "You are a great deal more than that. You are a trusted and wise leader, but you are also a good friend and a cherished husband and father. Your Anthony and your Olivia Louise are lucky to have such a man as you."

"That'll stay exactly as I am and watch them grow old and die and there's nothing I can do about it."

Thor just continued to frown at him, but there was a flash of something like sympathy or understanding or — god help him — an idea in his blue eyes, and Steve went to ask him what he was thinking about, but Thor just squeezed his shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, my friend. I interrupted you when you were about to make your way back to spend time with your family. I shall leave you to that now and take my leave."

And then, before he could say a word otherwise, Thor pulled away and took several long strides over to the door, quietly letting himself out in a way that was almost uncharacteristic of him.

As he watched the door close behind Thor, he sighed out a breath and chastised himself a little for being so...unenthusiastic about Thor's offer. It wasn't that it was a bad offer. It wasn't. It was actually very kind and thoughtful of him, and he appreciated it very much. It was just...

Thor saw the universe in a way that Steve knew he never could — or didn't think he could — because Thor had lived many more years than Steve ever wanted to and had seen more than Steve could even imagine. Or could have imagined before Hydra and New York and the Not-Goddess Esmeralda. To Thor, life on Midgard existed in the blink of an eye, and there was nothing odd to him about just picking up and moving on once the people he knew had shuffled off this mortal coil.

But Steve was not from Asgard. Steve did not have the same knowledge and understanding of centuries of existence in the way that Thor did. Steve was dumb kid from Brooklyn that maybe had gotten a little in over his head and had now found himself seventy years into a future he couldn't have imagined and now never wanted to leave. It was an unfortunate byproduct of the elixir that had given him this body that he now couldn't age and wouldn't age and — unless he pulled something stupid — would stay exactly as he was while he watched Tony — his Tony — grow old and wither and finally die, powerless to stop it. And someday, the same would be said of his little baby girl and any children she might have were he lucky enough to be a grandfather.

A grandfather with the appearance of a twenty-five-year-old. He'd be well over a hundred and still look exactly as he did at that moment. Jesus Christ.

The scene from the movie flashing through his mind — yeah, he knew now why he'd wanted to crack the remote — he flexed his hands a little, frustration thrumming through his body, and instead of going back upstairs to spend time with his family — his aging family — he wrapped his hands back up and took out his— his— he didn't even know what the word was for it, but he took it out on one of the heavy bags, not stopping until he'd punched it off the mount, sand pouring from the hole he'd torn in it.

~*~

By the time he got back to the penthouse, half the team was sitting in the living room, chomping on cookies and watching some animated-type Christmas special on TV. Jim, who had arrived in the interim, and Thor had settled themselves into armchairs while Sam, Buck, and Natasha shared space on the couch, Sam with Olivia cradled in his arms and Bucky with a glowering look on his face.

As Steve went to ask Buck and Sam what the issue was, Thor boomed out, "Steven! This Midgardian festival entertainment is most delightful! Come join us to partake!"

Steve made a hesitant, guttural sound as he looked at the TV where some blonde...haired...he guessed...thing that he supposed was made to resemble an...elf...was making herky-jerky movements as he talked to a...reindeer with a red nose?

"It's corny as hell, but it's a holiday classic," Sam said. "Right up there with the Grinch and Charlie Brown."

"I'm not sure if classic is the word you're looking for," Jim said with a pointed look at Sam.

"Oh, no, don't pretend you're better than we are!" Sam said, his gaze focused on Jim even as he pulled Olivia out of the way of Bucky's grasp.

"Yeah, it's my turn," Bucky said, but Sam shot him a look and said, "Uh, has the timer gone off yet?"

"You put two extra minutes on the clock. I saw you."

"You didn't see nothin'."

Steve looked to Natasha, who he figured to be the only one in the room that could actually give him the right story. She looked up at him, her face bland, but there was a look in her eyes that spoke to the idiotic nature of his two friends, and she said, "They have to learn how to share."

OK, maybe he was wrong.

"What does that mean?" he asked, directing a similar bland look back to her.

"It means," Jim said, and Steve turned to him, "that they're fighting over your kid like a couple of toddlers fighting over...whatever the cool, new toy of the season is."

Steve directed a look at Sam and Bucky, and Bucky kept his gaze on the TV as he said, "I don't even know why we bother. It's not like we're good enough to be her godfather."

Steve sighed out a pained breath, and he squeezed his eyes shut and put his hands to his hips and said, "Buck—"

"No, it's fine. It's fine, Stevie. You trust a...stranger...with your kid more than you trust me."

Steve opened his eyes and frowned at Bucky. "Buck, it's not that—"

"You know he's bullshitting you, right?" Jim asked, only to have "_Language!_" yelled at him by Sam and Bucky.

Jim rolled his eyes and muttered, "They're toddlers. When you put the two of them together, they're toddlers."

"You're the toddler," Sam said, and Bucky nodded in agreement.

Natasha rolled her eyes and muttered something in Russian that Steve was pretty sure translated into 'stupid goddamned boys' before she turned her attention back to the TV. Thor was just sitting there watching the events unfold with amusement lighting up his face, and it was at that moment that a phone left on the coffee table began to beep, and Sam whined while Bucky made some sort or weird, smug laughing sound and sat up, reaching his hands out to Sam.

"My turn. Hand the squirt over."

"I hope she poops the moment you get her settled in your arms."

"Well, that's not very nice, is it?" Bucky mused, and Natasha shook her head and muttered something else that Steve didn't know the translation for. Thor smiled and said, "You are very lucky, my friend. Your little one is much-loved."

"She's going to be spoiled if people don't knock it off," Steve muttered, and Bucky sighed and shook his head.

"The life of every party," he muttered to Sam, who snorted a laugh then said, "Come on, man, that's not nice to say with him in the room."

"Stevie, go see what your princess is doing in the kitchen so we can talk about you behind your back. Give. Me. The. Kid."

Bucky glared at Sam and held his arms out to take the baby from him, and Natasha said a bland, "He's not going to stop whining until you do," without looking away from the TV.

"Yeah, fine," Sam muttered then whispered to the baby in his arms, "OK, as soon as I put you in his arms, you force out the biggest, stinkiest poop you can manage. Yeah? Can you do that for your Uncle Sam — your cool Uncle Sam—"

"Cool," Bucky sniffed with a snorted laugh. "Even I know what that means nowadays. I don't think you do."

"Hey, I am totally— Nah, man, I'm not getting suckered into arguing with you."

"Because you know I'm right."

"I was thinkin' more it's kinda like shooting fish in a barrel to school old white boys that don't know any better."

Bucky stared at him for a moment before he asked a confused, "Did you just use 'school' as a

verb?"

Sam stared right back and said, "And you're making fun of me?"

"No, I'm really asking you. Did you use 'school' as a verb?"

Sam stared at him a moment longer then said, "Yeah, we gotta put you through the same sort of 'welcome to the twenty-first century' crash course we put Cap through."

"If it involves making out with the princess, I'm out."

Steve rolled his eyes and folded his arms while Sam snorted a laugh. "You really think Cap would let you get within five feet of the princess like that?"

"Is this honestly how you refer to Tony now?" Steve asked and looked between the two of them.

Both looked at him with confused looks on their faces, and Bucky said, "You mean the princess?"

"Yeah, man," Sam said, "even the Colonel knows what a spoiled little princess your baby mama is."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve caught Jim nodding his head in agreement before he said, "On one hand, it's weird, but on the other hand, it's sort of nice knowing Tones got his own kind of sugar daddy that isn't just looking for a way to, you know, steal his inventions from him or kill him in his sleep. Or both."

"Yeah," Sam said as both he and Bucky stared at Jim in part-bemusement and part-horror, "someday I gotta hear those stories."

Thor was still watching TV, and evidently Natasha wasn't fazed in the least by Jim's assessment of Tony's former lovers.

"Yeah, I love him," Jim said, "but he was not always the best judge of that sort of thing. Seems to have wised up in the last five years or so."

"Thanks," Steve said, not entirely sure if that was a compliment or not. He assumed it was because Jim overall seemed to like him and think he and Tony were good together.

Jim just nodded, and Bucky sighed and said, "All right, this is the last time I'm gonna ask. Give me that baby."

"That didn't sound like a question," Sam replied as he continued to cradle Olivia. "You said you were gonna ask."

Bucky groaned then said, "Would you give me that baby?"

"He's not gonna stop," Natasha warned and side-eyed Sam.

Sam huffed and said, "Fine. But I hope she craps in your arms."

He finally passed her over to a smirking Bucky, and Jim watched them before he said, a thoroughly unimpressed tone in his voice, "Yeah, you guys aren't toddlers at all."

"He's hoggin' all the time with her," Bucky explained, petulant, as he adjusted Olivia in his arms.

"Snooze ya lose," Sam replied with a shrug.

"Though I don't know why I bother," Bucky added. "I'm not good enough to be her godfather, so..."

Steve sighed again and rolled his eyes. "Bucky..."

"No, it's fine. It's fine, Stevie. I get it. You'd rather hand your own child over to strangers from California than anyone here in this room. Hey, that's your prerogative. You're her father. You gotta think about these kinds of things. Not like you're gonna be around forever..."

Bucky continued to complain about his slight, but Steve stopped listening beyond the 'gonna be around forever' bit. He stole a glance over at Thor, who conveniently was watching whatever corny little stop-animation thing was on the TV and thus wouldn't or couldn't make eye contact with him, and he thought about what Thor had said — about outliving his family, watching his loved ones grow old and wither, the offer to live out his days on Asgard — and he suddenly began to feel very...cold.

He shivered and swallowed, trying to shake the feel of encroaching ice enveloping him in its frigid cocoon, and like a man drowning, he sought out the one thing he knew would keep him afloat.

As Bucky explained...something...to Sam, Steve reached down and scooped Olivia out of his arms. He held her against his chest, the baby having reached the age where she could hold up some of her own weight so she wasn't settling into his embrace the way he wanted her to, but he held her tight and brushed his lips against her forehead and rocked her ever so slightly — like how he used to do when she was a fussy newborn he was trying to get settled back to sleep.

"OK, I was just yanking your chain before, but I'm actually kind of hurt now," Bucky said, and even Sam and Nat seemed to be surprised by Steve's possessive turn, both setting stunned looks on him. Jim seemed a little wary while Thor...

God help him, Thor almost looked like he understood, nodding and seeming to have an empathetic look on his face as he did so.

"Look, Buck, it's not anything you—" he started to say, only slightly ashamed at the fact that he was drawing some sense of grounding from his infant daughter.

"OK, Steve, I know I'm not as...up-to-date with things as you are, but even I know about the it's-not-you-it's-me bullshit. Actually, I thought that was only for...you know, relationships — romantic relationships."

"It's not that—" Steve started to say, but Sam shook his head and folded his arms.

"Sorry, man, that's what it sounds like."

"It's not—"

Jim shook his head like he couldn't believe how easily Steve was digging his own grave. "Steve, man, just go in the kitchen—" he pointed to the room in question, "—save yourself now. Totally sounds like you're pulling that bullshit."

Steve frowned at him and put up a hand to block one of Olivia's from grabbing onto his lip. "It's really not—"

"Doesn't matter," Jim said with a shake of his head. "Just take her away. Go see what Tony's doing. He won't let any of us into the kitchen."

"Why?"

"Evidently we're more of a 'hindrance' than a 'help,'" Sam replied, and Steve frowned again and went to ask him what he meant by that when the scent of baking cookies wafted through the air.

"He's baking again?" Steve asked and looked to the kitchen.

"Yeah," Bucky said, and Steve directed his attention back to him to see he was now watching the TV like the others. "He yelled at us for eating half the batch he made this morning."

"They were good," Sam said, and Bucky nodded his agreement.

"Indeed!" Thor said, chiming in to the conversation. "Anthony is quite talented in the culinary arts. Steven and Olivia Louise are both very lucky indeed."

"Well, he is Steve's little homemaker," Nat teased with a small smile on her face.

Sam and Bucky snorted laughs while Jim shook his head and Thor smiled like hearing this pleased him. Steve watched them a moment before he decided to try his luck elsewhere and left them to their Christmas show while he made his way back to the kitchen, sneaking up quietly enough so that he wouldn't disturb Tony.

Tony's concentration was on the raw cookie dough he was rolling out, carefully adding flour when needed but not too much so as to spoil the recipe. His hair was a little mussed and his face a little flushed from the heat of the kitchen and the exertion, dough and flour covering his hands and a determined concentration on his face as he rolled out the dough to a thin enough consistency. Steve was sure he could have stood there for five minutes unnoticed, but Olivia had been, for all intents and purposes, a noise box ever since she'd realized she could make noises, and she squealed and babbled and smacked a hand against Steve's face, and as Steve jerked his head back in slight surprised from the smack, Tony looked up, a disgruntled twist to his lips.

"Are they still out there whining because I wouldn't let them eat any more?" he asked.

"Uh, no, not really," Steve replied and stepped into the kitchen. "Buck and Sam were fighting over who got to hold the baby."

Tony 'hmphed' and went back to rolling out his dough. "Well, maybe they should adopt one of their own."

"I don't think they want to adopt a baby together."

"Hmm? Well, maybe they should give the cosmic pain-in-the-ass a call. She can wiggle her fingers and give them the, well, us treatment."

"I don't think they like each other like that," Steve said as he sat down on a chair at the island and settled Olivia onto his lap. "I think Sam is seeing Sharon, and Buck's pretty sweet on Nat."

Tony 'hmphed' again and said, "Well, maybe they can get some sort of foursome thing going on."

"Foursome?" Steve murmured and tried to figure out the logistics for that. Seemed like an awful lot of work and not very intimate at that.

"Different strokes," Tony said with a shrug, and Steve considered this a moment.

"Have you had a foursome?" he asked, doing what he could to swallow the uncertainty in his voice. Steve was a one-at-a-time kind of guy, and he had just assumed Tony was, too, but he could admit that Tony did have quite a bit more experience in that sort of thing than he did, and maybe Tony had just been humoring him the past couple years with his less...adventurous attitude toward sex. Not that Steve didn't like sex. He did. He really, really did, and he liked to think he had shown his interest to Tony in varied and interesting ways over the past couple years they'd been together, but—

"I was at an orgy. Once," Tony admitted before Steve could spiral any further down into his self- pity. "I mean it's not... I guess when you're young and horny it's kind of...exciting. I'm not— I wasn't—"

Steve finally found the courage to look up and watched as Tony stood there, halfway through rolling out the dough with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I can only speak for myself," he finally said, "but it's a lot more...fun...with someone you love. Especially if that someone's a dirty old man."

Steve didn't even try to hide the sly smile that spread over his face.

"You knew what you were getting into," he said, and Tony matched his smile.

"When we got married? Sure. When we first started going out? Look, I'm going to be honest here. I was not expecting Captain Squeaky-Clean 1940s to be as much of a downright pervert when it comes to sex as it turns out he is."

Steve sighed out a breath, and Olivia slapped her hands on the tabletop and babbled incoherent sounds. "You know," he said above his daughter's babbles, "I really don't understand where this idea of me being 'squeaky clean' came from. I'm not—"

"Well, I know that now," Tony said and went back to rolling out the dough. "At the time, I just wasn't prepared for how...well, kinky you could be. It was kind of a surprise. Not a bad surprise just...a surprise. For someone that only learned what I knew about you from movies and books and...certain parental figures that shall remain nameless...yeah, definitely wasn't covered in any of those books just how much of a kinky little sex pervert Steve Rogers really could be."

"I ever see him again, I'll gladly take a swing at him," Steve said with an earnest and curt nod of the head. "And I'm not that much of a pervert. I just...enjoy playing with you."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Tony mused with a lopsided smile.

Steve shrugged and watched as Tony set the rolling pin aside and grabbed the cookie cutters. "Here," he said and shoved them at Steve, "make yourself useful. Get them as close to each other as you can without overlapping."

He then turned his attention to the stove where a timer was suddenly beeping, and as Tony tended to the cookies in the oven, Steve grabbed a tree-shaped cutter and said to the baby, "Can you believe we have to work on Christmas Eve?"

One hand braced and holding the baby, Steve leaned forward a little and brushed his lips against the back of her head as he reached out his other hand and pressed the cutter into the dough, and Olivia made a 'baa!' sound and slapped her hands on the countertop, presumably in an attempt to get at the dough.

"No, dolly," Steve said and pulled her back just a little. "That's not for you."

Tony pulled the freshly-baked cookies out of the oven and set the hot sheet on top of the stove, and he looked at Steve and made a face and said, "What's gotten into you?"

"Huh?"

"You OK?" he asked, half in a tease and half in concern. "You seem a little...clingy...all of a sudden."

"'M not being clingy," he said as he continued to brace a hand against Olivia to hold her back against his chest while he leaned forward and pressed another tree shape into the dough.

"Yeah?" Tony asked and tilted his head to the side. "You stole that baby away from your friends, and now you're in here trying to be 'useful.'"

"Is that a problem?" Steve asked and glanced up at him a moment. "Also, she is my child, and I am being useful," he added and set the tree cutter down and picked up a candy cane.

He cut a candy cane into the dough, but Tony just continued to stare at him, a concerned look spread over his face.

"You sure? You're not keeping something from me, are you? You're not dying, right?"

Steve barked out a laugh a little more loudly than he might have liked, and he tightened his hold just a little bit on Olivia and pressed another candy cane shape into the dough.

Tony just winced from his response, and he said a slightly confused, "That's funny?"

Steve sobered, and he shook his head and said, "No."

Tony stared at him a moment more before he moved over to the stove and began to take the cookies off the sheet and set them on a cooling rack.

"No," he reiterated, trying to be as breezy and nonchalant as he could, "I'm definitely not dying. I'm just... First Christmas I've had with a family — with my own family — that I've had in a very long time." He shrugged and set the cutter down to pick up a snowman cutter. "Kinda nice."

Tony made a contemplative 'hmm' sound, and he cleaned the excess sugar off the sheet — or actually the paper he'd lined it with — wiping it into the sink, and said, "Good to know you're not sick of us yet."

Steve opened his mouth to say something corny and earnest, but he thought that might make Tony even more concerned, so he swallowed down the cheese and instead said a sly, "Well, there's always Madripoor to escape to when that happens."

Tony nodded and finished cleaning up the sheet and set it back down again. "Ah, I can see the headlines now. Captain America: Deadbeat Dad."

"Betcha never would've thought that from reading your books and listening to Howard, either."

He finished cutting the snowmen and picked up a Santa cutter, and Tony, as he watched Steve, said, "Honestly, I never thought of 'Captain America' in that way at all."

"What way?" Steve asked and stole a glance up at Tony before he went back to the dough.

"Mmm...mortal — human — like the rest of us. You were almost a mythical creature or a legend — like King Arthur or Robin Hood or Paul Bunyan. I mean, I know you and Aunt Peg kind of had a thing for each other, but it was just...hard to picture you as someone's husband or old man — like you were removed from that sort of thing."

Steve nodded, slowly, and set the Santa cutter down. "I see," he said, not really sure how to take what Tony was saying.

"Hey, I don't mean it as a bad thing," Tony said, seeming to know that his words hadn't exactly brought comfort to Steve. "I just mean it as a... You weren't...bothered...by that sort of mundane stuff. But — hey — I only knew the myth, not the man himself. The 'myth' was fun when I was a kid. The 'man's a lot more fun now that I'm an adult."

"Thanks," Steve said and sat back from the table, and Tony peeled away the unused scraps of dough. "I think."

"I know that sounded like a really sucky explanation, but I meant in a good way," Tony said and began to scrape cookies off the table and onto the sheet.

Steve nodded, and Olivia braced both her feet against the edge of the tabletop and began to push against it, inadvertently shoving herself back against Steve, the force just a little...more...than he was sure other four-month-olds could muster. He watched her as she pushed her feet against the tabletop, and he kissed the top of her head then scooped her up and stood up. He settled her into his arms then went over to Tony, and as Tony grumbled to himself as he tried to fit the last cookie onto the sheet, Steve reached out an arm and snagged it around Tony, pulling him against him and holding his entire world in his arms.

Tony made a 'humph' sound and said, "Seriously, you're being weird and clingy even for you. Are you OK?"

"Fine," Steve said and pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded and said, "Positive," then kissed Tony's forehead again.

Tony just made a face, and he turned some in Steve's embrace so he could look up at him, brow furrowed and lips thinned into a partial grimace. But Steve smiled at him, and he said, "It's Christmas. Told ya. First Christmas I've had in a long time with a family of my own. Kinda...I don't know... Just... Something nice I'd like to keep around for a long time to come."

"Mmm...well..." Tony said after a quiet moment, relaxing into Steve's embrace and nestling his head on his shoulder, "I guess I knew what I was signing up for."

"Not too bad, is it?"

"I've had worse," Tony said then pulled out of Steve's grasp to finish up the batch of cookies. He grabbed the shaker of red sugar crystals and shook some over a candy cane and then a Santa and then said, "You know...I didn't... I didn't celebrate Christmas for a long time."

Steve kept quiet, only watching and waiting for Tony to continue his story.

"My parents died literally, like, a week before Christmas," he added and shook some crystals onto a snowman. "I mean, not that— We didn't spend a whole lot of time together anyway — not even during the holidays — but...it was still... I didn't want anything to do with Christmas for a long time. Tried to play it off like I was too cool for it or something, but it wasn't..."

He set the red shaker down and picked up the green one.

"It was hard to get excited over anything when all I could think was, 'Yep, my parents died a year ago today,' or 'Wow, Christmas already? Hey, fifth anniversary of my parents' death.'"

Steve watched him shake some of the green crystals onto a tree and asked, "What changed?"

"Hmm?" Tony said and shook crystals onto a candy cane. "Age, I guess. Got a little older. The wound...healed over. Didn't disappear just...healed over, I guess. Rhodey invited me to spend Christmas with him a few times. And then, well, Pep. And then you with your fucking old- fashioned ways."

Steve tweaked a smile and said, "You know, I always wanted a train set to put under the tree."

"Mmm...maybe next year, you walking Norman Rockwell painting."

Steve snorted a laugh — it wasn't true, but yeah, OK, maybe he could be as corny as that sometimes — and Tony finished shaking sugar crystals onto the cookies then slid the sheet into the oven to bake. After he'd closed the oven door and set the timer, Steve smiled more fully at him and said, "Come on. It's not that bad is it? Celebrating Christmas, I mean."

Tony made a contemplative 'hmm' sound then said, "Well, it's not the worst thing I've ever done. I guess it's worth it to see how excited you get about things. And how weird you get about other things."

"Weird?"

"Yeah," Tony said and balled up the scraps of dough that weren't enough to get one last cookie out of. "Weird. Like with the wrapping paper."

"Oh, that," Steve said and rolled his eyes, and Olivia bounced a little in his arms of her own volition. He steadied her and added, "You mean that con perpetuated by the department stores."

"Well," Tony said with a shrug and continued to clean up the mess he'd made, "I mean, you could argue every holiday on the calendar is a con perpetuated by retail outlets looking to make a buck. And can you blame them? I mean, Black Friday is called 'Black Friday' because it's traditionally when all these stores finally get out of the red and start turning a profit. And don't play all high and mighty with me. The commercialization of Christmas is a time-honored American tradition that people were complaining about even back in your day, you old codger. And I know they had wrapping paper back in your day, too, so don't even try to give me that shit that they didn't."

"I never said they didn't," Steve replied and stole one of the freshly-baked cookies. He bit into it and added through the bite, "I just said it was expensive and unnecessary."

Tony stared at him as he crunched on the cookie, and Olivia reached out to grasp hold of it, but Steve pulled his hand away to keep it out of her grubby little hands.

"If it was up to you, we'd be wrapping her gifts in day-old newspapers that nobody reads anymore because print is dead."

Steve took another bite of the cookie and said a muffled, "Well, she's a baby. We don't really need to wrap her presents at all."

"Yeah, this is one of those times where your old-fashionedness is more 'annoying' than 'endearing.'"

Steve shrugged and shoved the last of the cookie in his mouth. "Just callin' it as I see it."

"Yeah? Well, while you're doing that, do me a favor and put our child down for a nap. She should have been down half-an-hour ago."

Steve glanced at Olivia then looked back at Tony. "She looks pretty awake to me."

"Yeah, now. But she's going to be cranky later on if she doesn't nap, and evidently, we're having your relatives for Christmas Eve dinner."

"My relatives?"

"Yeah."

Steve motioned back toward the living room. "You mean the ones in there watching that... weird...Christmas thing on TV?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, they're my relatives now?"

"Yeah."

"Even Jim?"

"Well, no. Rhodey is and will always be my strudel bite."

"Your _strudel bite?_"

Tony shrugged, and Steve frowned a little as he considered this.

"Why don't you ever call me cute names like that?"

Tony startled a bit. "Uh...what?" he asked like the question had come out of left field for him.

"Well, you're always calling Jim names like that, but you never really use them on me. I'm just... wondering if there's a reason for that," Steve said and shrugged a little, finding that he wasn't just trying to needle Tony. He really did kind of...wonder...why Tony was so free with his pet names for Jim and even Pepper from time to time but didn't...really didn't have any for Steve beyond the typical 'dear' or 'honey' or 'sweetheart.'

"Uh," Tony said and scratched his arm, frowning as he seemed to consider this. "Huh. I, ah, honestly, I never really thought about it. I've just...always used those names with Rhodey. I didn't know you would want me to use them with you."

"I mean, you don't have to, I just...wouldn't be opposed to them."

"I call you 'old man,'" Tony reminded him, and Steve made a face.

"Yeah. I know."

"Hey, that's a 'cute' name," Tony defended. "No one else gets called that."

"Yeah, you always want to hear your husband talk about how _old_ you are."

Tony shrugged and wiped down the countertop. "Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't act like such an old man then. Now, seriously, please go put her down for a nap before she gets all overtired and cranky."

"Fine," Steve said with an exhaled breath.

"And maybe take a nap yourself," Tony suggested. "You're acting funny today."

"I'm not—" he started to say but then thought better of it. Tony would just counter him, and he would counter Tony, and there was a very real chance that Tony would wear him down to the point that Steve would just tell him what was on his mind and that...was something he really didn't want to talk to Tony about. Not because he didn't trust Tony—

—but because he didn't want to hurt Tony.

He knew Tony harbored some insecurities about their age gap. Physically, Tony did appear older than he was, and to be honest, Tony did have quite a few more years of lived experience than Steve did. Steve would always and forever consider himself an old man that had taken a very long nap — he supposed like a non-aging Rip Van Winkle — but Tony did have some reason to insist that Steve was his boy-toy and not the other way around.

Not that he'd ever admit that to Tony though.

But he didn't want to tell Tony what he'd been discussing with Thor earlier — he didn't want to put that thought in Tony's mind. It didn't matter that some nutcase from space that liked to call herself a 'goddess' insisted that he and Tony were 'soul mates' or 'bond mates' or whatever the hell she'd called them. There was, to be honest, a sizeable age difference between them. Either Tony was fifteen years older than Steve or Steve was fifty-two years older than Tony (Steve himself was a fan of the latter interpretation). Both he and Tony had their hang-ups with that — Tony insisting that he was older than Steve and he was the cradle-robber in the relationship. Discussing with Tony what he deep down probably already knew was not the sort of thing he wanted to do on Christmas Eve of all days. Not ever, to be perfectly honest, but especially not on Christmas Eve—

His first Christmas Eve with his own family.

He adjusted his hold on the baby in his arms and brushed his lips against her head one more time then said, "Yeah, maybe I just didn't...sleep well last night. I don't know. Maybe I'll take a nap."

"I wish I could take a nap," Tony muttered as Steve turned to make his way out of the kitchen. He stopped and turned back and watched as Tony continued to clean up his mess.

"Come with me," he said.

"What about dinner, huh?" Tony asked, and Steve realized he was getting a little overworked and cranky. "I didn't know we were feeding the crew. Barton went to 'flip houses.' Bruce is gone to visit a cousin. I thought the rest of them were going somewhere, too. Why isn't Thor with his girlfriend? What the hell is Wilson still doing here? I thought he was going to visit his mother?"

Steve stared at Tony a moment, and he chastised himself for thinking that Tony was acting kind of moody — like he had in the later months of pregnancy — only because his first thought was to wonder if Tony was pregnant again.

God, he'd be worrying about that for the rest of his life, wouldn't he?"

The oven timer went off, and Tony grumbled and pulled open the door and reached in to grab the sheet, smacking it on top of the stove before he closed the oven door.

"Is that the last batch?" Steve asked.

"Yeah."

"Then come on," he said and nodded his head toward the stairs. "You and me. Let's go."

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. "Steve, I'm really not in the mood to—"

"Not that," Steve cut in before Tony could finish. "Just a nap. You and me. You can even be the big spoon if you want."

Tony made a 'pfft' sound and began to move the cookies onto a cooling rack. "Please. You know I like to be the little spoon."

"Good," Steve said, unable to stop a grin from spreading over his lips. "Because I like to be the big one."

"What the hell are we supposed to feed them—"

Steve just reached out a hand for Tony. "We'll figure something out. Come on. It's early enough. We'll take a nap and order Chinese or something."

"That's tomorrow," Tony reminded him.

"We could have it two nights in a row," Steve said with a shrug, hand still out for Tony.

Tony took the last cookie off the sheet to set it on the cooling rack then smacked the spatula down on the counter and muttered, "Fine."

He moved over to meet up with Steve, and Steve reached out and snagged an arm around Tony's shoulders, pulling him into a half embrace and leading him out of the kitchen.

Olivia had begun to fall asleep on his shoulder, and he led his family through the living room, right in front of the TV — to the dismay of the others who grumbled and complained that Steve was blocking their view — and he ushered Tony over to the stairs and dropped his arm from Tony's shoulders only to reach out and take hold of his hand to lead him up the stairs.

Tony followed, quietly, surprisingly, and once they'd gotten to the top, Steve let go of Tony's hand right by the door to their room and said, "Go on. I'll be in in a sec. I just need to put this little sleepyhead down."

"Fine," Tony muttered again and went into the bedroom. Steve waited a moment before he went over to Olivia's bedroom and set her down in her crib, making sure she was free of anything she could accidentally suffocate on. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips then pressed his fingertips to her forehead before he turned and went back to his own bedroom.

Tony was already there, lying on his side of the bed, on his side, his arms folded in a pout like he thought this was completely stupid but he was humoring Steve regardless. Steve smirked at him before he went around to his side of the bed and climbed in, and he shuffled around a bit before he scooted over and spooned up behind Tony, throwing an arm over his side and another above his head.

"You know I'm not going to be able to sleep," Tony muttered in a petulant pout.

"Well, just close your eyes," Steve suggested and cuddled up as close as he could.

He followed his own advice and lay there, his eyes closed, and after several minutes of quiet, he realized Tony was lightly snoring. He smirked and snorted out a silent laugh and murmured, "Yeah, sure you aren't," before he pressed a light kiss against the back of Tony's head and snuggled down into the comfort of a warm bed and his favorite warm body beside him.

~*~

Christmas Eve dinner, as it turned out, came from a local Italian joint, and Steve said a silent apology to his mother for happily chowing down on meat-filled ravioli and chicken Alfredo and chicken parmesan and any number of other meat-filled dishes. His mother had been reared in Catholic teachings and traditions, meatless Christmas Eves being one of traditions, and she had continued on these teaching and traditions with him. He could still remember the fish of his youth and how it would stink out their small apartment when she would make it for them after coming home from a long shift at the hospital.

Tony's mother had attempted to rear him in Catholic teachings as well, as it turned out, she being, at the least, part-Italian, but Steve was pretty sure those teachings had fallen by the wayside before Tony could even vote (which was now eighteen and not twenty-one as it had been in his day; oddly, the drinking age had gone from eighteen up to twenty-one), and Tony seemingly felt no guilt for indulging in beef and poultry products on a day when religion told them they should abstain.

They ate on the communal floor because that was the only floor that had a formal dining table. The holiday décor was less pronounced on the communal floor than it was in the penthouse, less of a theme and more of a mishmash of whatever anyone had wanted to put up. There was a tree that was decorated in lights and a haphazard melee of various styles of ornaments and three different types of garland and four different flavors of candy canes — which Steve thought was absolutely ridiculous. What was wrong with the old standby, peppermint? Why did there need to be a dozen different kinds of candy canes? Steve had been the one to put the tinsel on the tree, everyone else laughing at him for being so antiquated (everyone except Bucky, of course, who thought the tinsel looked nice), but Steve just pulled an 'aw shucks' routine and explained that's how they used to decorate trees back in his day and it would make him happier to do it that way, and so they let him do it, humoring him, for the most part.

There were wreaths on the walls and lighted bunches of garland strung from various points in the ceiling, and JARVIS was playing pleasant Christmas carols for them as they ate their meal and chatted about a host of subjects. It wasn't a full gathering, of course. Clint was gone to 'flip houses' again (Steve suspected he had a secret girlfriend he didn't want any of them to know about) and Bruce had gone to spend the holiday with a cousin. Maria evidently had other plans as well. Pepper and Happy were out in California. Nick had sent them Christmas wishes from wherever he was trying to root out Hydra cells. Sharon was in Europe somewhere. He thought. Or maybe DC. He couldn't remember what Sam had said. And Sam, of course, had gone to spend the night at home with his mom after promising to bring back some cookies for the gang.

So, it wasn't a full house, but it was nice all the same, Thor regarding them with tales of Asgardian festivals of days of yore that Bucky continually insisted he was making up or had pulled out of books about Scandinavian culture and lore. Thor, good man that he was, just smiled at Buck's attempts to humor him — or bring him down to earth — and went about telling another tale of his youth that even Jim shook his head at and said, "No. Nuh-uh. That is totally impossible."

"I assure you, my friend, it is quite possible," Thor replied, no trace of anger or malice in his voice, only amusement.

"What gets me is that your brother is only an ass in, like, half of these stories — not even," Tony said, a water goblet in his hand.

Thor's jovial mood went a little sad at that, and he said in a quiet and humbled voice, "My brother was not always the misguided, power-hungry fool you know him to be. But jealousy is a vicious monster, and my brother fell victim to those that would seek to exploit that weakness in him and use it to further their own gains."

Jim had a flat look on his face that said he didn't buy a word of what Thor was saying, but Natasha was the one to say a low and cool, "He knew what he was doing."

A frown now covered Thor's once-good-humored features, and he said, "My brother is not completely innocent of his crimes — was not completely innocent — of course, and I accept full blame for my part in his turn to darkness."

"Uh, how was any of what he did your fault?" Jim asked.

Thor just smiled at him, sadly, wistfully. "When you think of Loki, you think of a monster. When I think of him, I think of my brother. I know myself to have been favored by our parents. The elder so often is. It is yet another trait that we on Asgard share in common with our Midgardian brethren. I was too caught up in my own thirst for power that I neglected to see what was happening to my own brother. Were I not so hungry for glory, I would have been able to see that, and perhaps...I could have put a stop to it before it became too late."

"He still made his own choices," Natasha said, coolly, lips pursed and eyebrow raised.

"He was seduced by a power he did not understand and could not control."

"Oh," Jim said and sat up a bit. "You trying to say he was brainwashed, too?"

Bucky, Steve noticed, stayed oddly quiet throughout the conversation, staring at his plate and pushing his food around without eating any of it.

"To a degree, yes," Thor replied with a nod. "And it is why we must succeed in our quest to seek out and return the scepter to its rightful guard. It contains in it a power — a concentration of energy so strong and so destructive that it could very well destroy not only Midgard but all of the nine realms."

The table went deathly quiet at that, and after a few moments of silence, Tony tweaked a smile and said, "Awkward conversation and painful silences? Yep. Feels like Christmas."

But Steve ignored him and instead said to Thor, "Sounds like you know what you're talking about."

"Yeah?" Jim chimed in, fiddling with his napkin as he sat back in his chair. "Sounds like there's some things he didn't tell us."

Thor exhaled a breath, and he looked at the small group of friends he had gathered around him and said, "I do not have proof, but I believe it to be possible that the scepter — the power contained within the scepter — holds one of the six Infinity stones."

Steve exhaled a heavy breath through his nose. "Infinity stones," he muttered and shared a look with Tony, who just shook his head as though to say, _Great. Now what?_

He turned back to Thor. "What are Infinity stones?"

Thor smiled, and he leaned forward some as though to give the impression of imparting wisdom on them.

"As I understand it," he began, "they are concentrations of power as old as existence itself. They are powerful in and of themselves as we've seen — if I am correct in my assumption about the scepter possessing one of the stones — but a being that was able to unite the six individual stones would possess complete omnipotence and omniscience — would have the power to wipe out all of existence with the snap of his or her fingers—"

And to drive his point home, he snapped his fingers loud and theatrically before sitting back in his chair once more.

Steve glanced around the table to take stock of the reaction, the others seeming to fall somewhere between 'curious' and 'disbelieving,' and Jim said, "Yeah, but this is a fairytale, right? An Asgardian fairytale? Something you tell your kids before they go to sleep to scare them into...not running off to the land of the Frost Giants or something."

"_Jotunheim_," Thor replied. "And no, it is...not a fairytale. The Infinity stones are very real, and very dangerous were they to fall into the wrong hands."

"Yeah, no kidding," Jim muttered. "I remember New York."

"We all remember New York," Steve said, catching Tony's eye to make sure he was OK at the mention of that seminal event. Tony tweaked a smile in return and turned his attention to Olivia, who was sitting quietly in her highchair watching the adults around her, and satisfied that he wasn't about to suffer a panic attack — not that he had in quite a while, but as Steve knew about his time in the ice, the memories and the fears that came with them never fully went away, they just...took a breather — he turned back to Thor and asked, "Has this ever happened before?"

"Er...not to my knowledge?" Thor replied, almost like he'd been caught out.

"Then how do you know it's gonna be the end of the world if someone gets all these 'magic stones' together?" Bucky asked, the first words he'd spoken in some time.

"It is said—"

"But it's not known," Jim cut in. "Nobody actually knows what happens."

"Look, I don't know about you guys," Tony said, turning his attention back to the table, "but we all saw what that one that was in Loki's scepter was able to do to Barton — and I don't mean making him even more annoying than usual. I'm willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt."

Bucky and Jim rolled their eyes, but Steve nodded and said, "I agree."

"Ah, Steve, you're not buying this shit, are you?" Bucky asked with a disappointed whine.

"You saw what happened to Tony," Steve explained to him. "You really doubt powers like this exist in this universe?"

"He just said he doesn't know for certain what happens," Jim cut in. "Just what old man Odin probably told him as a bedtime story."

"I think it's something we should be mindful of," Steve said, catching both Tony's and Nat's eyes and silently exhaling in relief that they both appeared to be in agreement with him. "We know we have to get Loki's scepter back. We know it potentially has one of these stones in it. It's not impossible to think there are others out there."

"Yeah, how are we supposed to go about finding them?" Jim asked.

"'Tis better that they remain unfound," Thor replied.

"But is it possible someone could find them?" Steve asked pointedly, and Thor tweaked a grimace before he said, "Obviously. One has already been found. Possibly two."

"Two?" the entire room chorused, and Thor continued to grimace at them.

"It is thought...that the Tesseract is one of them."

"The Tesseract," Steve muttered and shook his head. The reason his entire goddamned world had been upended was because of that goddamned Tesseract.

And if Thor was right about what it really was, they should have just left it at the bottom of the goddamned ocean. He'd said that from the moment Nick had come to him with his first mission out of the ice.

"Oh, good, two of them," Tony said. "That makes me feel safe. Hey, uh, happen to know where the rest are?"

Thor gave a curt shake of his head. "That I do not know."

"It's possible no one else would ever find them?" Natasha said, more of a question than a statement.

"It's possible," Thor admitted, "but I have been alive for many hundreds of years, and in my youth, there was never any talk of these Infinity stones and what havoc they may wreak on our world. Oh, there was talk of them, of course — as a myth or a legend — but it is only recently that they have begun to make themselves known. I fear for what that may portend."

The table went quiet again at that — even little noisemaker Olivia keeping silent as she watched the adults — and as Steve shook his head, unsure of what even to say, Jim let out a mournful, "Man, I coulda been home in Philly eating pumpkin pie."

Bucky scoffed. "Nobody ever wants to go to Philly."

"Oh, yeah, Brooklyn is so much cooler. You know it's filled with douchey white-boys wearing fedoras and beards and drinkin' ten-dollar lattes, now, right?"

"OK, in the vernacular of today: Philly sucks."

Tony nodded. "Mmm," he agreed, "they did beat up Santa Claus."

Jim rolled his eyes. "They didn't beat him up. They just...threw stuff at him. All right? Look, Philly's a tough town."

"It's a shit town," Bucky assured him, and Jim huffed out a sigh.

"Look, I'm gonna tell you one more time: people that are proud to be from Brooklyn aren't allowed to throw stones."

"No, evidently that's what you people from Philly do. At Santa."

"It wasn't—" He sighed. "Never mind."

"All right, guys," Steve said, inserting himself into their pissing match. "Come on. It's Christmas Eve. Leave the hometown pride for another day."

"Boys," Natasha said with a bored sniff and looked at Olivia. "We're outnumbered here, kid."

Olivia just gurgled at her and slapped her hands happily on the highchair tray, and as Steve watched Tony reach over and pick Olivia out of her highchair to settle her on his lap, a dark part of him thought that maybe it wasn't even a problem any longer that he was practically immortal. The way things were going, some Hydra goon would find those Infinity gems or whatever Thor had called him and attempt to lay them all to waste before Olivia was even out of diapers.

Well, at least if they went, they could all go together.

~*~

He had a dream that night that he was planting flowers in front of a tombstone. It was warm out, sunny — he got a sense of it being late-afternoon. For whatever reason, the name was partially obscured on the stone, Steve only being able to read Anthony Edward and nothing beyond that. The dates were also a bit fuzzy as well, his eye only able to make out the months. A woman with dark hair came up beside him and crouched down to his level just as he'd finished patting down the soil and pouring a little water over the flowers, asking him "Almost done there, soldier?" and after complementing him on the flowers added, "I know he'll appreciate them."

He woke up right after that, filled with that confused feeling a person got when first pulled out of a dream and unable decipher what was real and what wasn't, and after reacquainting himself with his surroundings, he moved over to Tony's side and curled up beside him, carefully slotting himself next to his husband and putting an arm around him so that he didn't wake him up.

He nestled his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, comforting himself with the warmth of Tony's body and the feel of his chest rising and falling with each breath, but he couldn't seem to shake the images from the dream — of Tony's tombstone (and he could just feel in the dream that it was his Tony's) and the flowers and the woman whose face he couldn't make out. She was coming to collect him. That much he knew. To pull him away from Tony's final resting place.

A site he was sure he would be visiting by himself for many, many years.

He opened his eyes at that and swallowed, and he blinked a few times and focused on the sleeping man next to him — the man that was still alive, still breathing, and would grouse and grumble at him if he were to wake him up at that very moment. He lay there and, with the dim amount of light available, watched his love sleep, committing the sight to memory so that he might be able to recall it many years from now when Tony was long gone and he was still as young and fit as he was at that very moment.

~*~

Steve woke up the next morning to Tony snoring in his ear.

He groaned and pressed the heel of his palm into his eye, stretching out beneath the covers as he willed himself to wake up. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't that much of a morning person. More than Tony, maybe, but it wasn't that he enjoyed getting up so early. That was just the easiest time of day to get his run in. He thought that belief about him probably developed in the few months after he'd woken up — that horrible time in his life when he'd been miserable and unable to sleep and had, secretly, wished for some way to end it all.

He wasn't even sure if he'd told Tony about those thoughts.

But since being able to find some peace and purpose in this new millennium, the sleep came much easier for him, and tucked into a warm and comfortable bed with the love of his life sleeping beside him and dark skies greeting him from beyond the plate glass windows before him, it was all he could do not to stay curled up beneath those blankets all day.

But today wasn't just any day. It was Christmas Day, and even though their crew was about half the size that it usually was, they were still hosting the festivities that morning. Which was...kind of nice, actually. He'd never had a big family. The only time he'd had anything like that were those times he joined in with Bucky's family.

He guessed it was about time he repaid him the favor.

Maybe this was the start of a new tradition. He didn't know; but what he did know was that he wanted to give Tony a break after all the work he'd done yesterday. He reached over to the bedside table and slapped his hand around a few times before he found his phone, and he picked it up and turned on the display and grimaced at the time.

07:04.

If there was one person in his family that was a morning person, it was his little infant girl that was no doubt awake in her crib and gurgling to herself — and there was no question in his mind she'd need a diaper change, too.

He glanced over at Tony, who was still snoring, his mouth hung open, and he tried to figure how much longer Tony would probably be there and if he could just leave the baby in her crib for Tony to find. But then Tony would just grumble at him about that, and he wasn't really looking to put him in a bad mood on Christmas, of all days, and so he exhaled a breath and steeled himself and sat up, setting the phone back on the table before he pushed the covers off his legs and swung them over the side of the bed. He scratched his abdomen with one hand and the back of his head with the other, yawning and stretching his back just the slightest until it popped, and he grunted and groaned a little and sat there, shoulders slumped, as he looked out at the dim, dreary sight Manhattan made at this moment.

Nope, definitely not a 'white' Christmas this year.

He pushed himself to his feet and went over to the dresser to pull out a pair of pajama pants — evidently, Tony was the only one that wanted to see him walking around in a pair of tight skivvies — and he pulled them on then went over to the bathroom and took a leak. He glanced at himself in the mirror before he left the room, and he put a hand to his face and rubbed his fingers under his chin to see how badly he needed a shave. Eh, not too bad. Tony had a thing about beard burn, but he could probably get away without shaving for at least half the day.

He stepped a little closer and peered at himself in the mirror, last night's dream only partially forgotten and his conversation yesterday with Thor still ringing in his ears. He squinted and looked for the telltale signs of aging — wrinkles, maybe a gray hair — and found nothing. He was ninety-six and didn't look anything close to it, and if things kept going the way they looked to be, he'd never look anything close to it.

God, maybe he'd have to take Thor up on his offer just so he wouldn't be left entirely alone.

He looked away from the mirror and shook his head, flicking the switch 'off' and pushing his way back into the bedroom. Tony was still snoring, though he'd since flopped over, rolling toward Steve's side as he evidently sought out the suddenly missing source of heat. He smiled at him then turned and made his way out of the room, closing the door quietly before he made his way over to the baby's room.

He stepped in and was greeted with the sounds of babbling and rustling, and he could only think, _Please don't let her have smeared anything in her diaper_, as he walked over and said a quiet, "Merry Christmas, dolly."

She turned as soon as he came into her line of sight, and she smiled and babbled at him, and though he smiled back at her, his nose twitched at the realization that, yep, she definitely needed a diaper change.

"You do this on purpose, don't you?" he teased as he reached in and picked her up. He carried her over to the changing table and set her down, moving his arms out of the way of her grabby little hands as he reached out for the assorted sundry items that he needed. Fresh diaper, wipes, and baby powder at the ready, he set about changing her diaper, finding that, yes, it did become easier and easier the more he did it—

But that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Then again, who did?

His daughter now presentable, he finished cleaning up then picked her up and settled her against his chest before he carried her out of the room, whispering a quiet, "Shh! Papa's still sleeping. Let's let Papa sleep for a little while longer," as he carried her past his and Tony's room and over to the steps.

She just cooed a bit and slapped her hands against his chest.

"Already listen to me as well as your Papa does."

He carried her downstairs and passed through the quiet and dim living room area on his way to the kitchen. "JARVIS, could you put the tree lights on, please?" he asked, glancing up to the ceiling only briefly as he issued his command.

Hey, he was getting better about it. Poor Buck still stared up at the ceiling like it was watching his every move. Which it...kind of was, to be honest.

Not something he felt comfortable telling Bucky at the moment though.

"Of course, Captain," came JARVIS's reply, and the soft glow of multicolored lights illuminated the darkness of the room. Tony had wanted all white lights because evidently that was classier, but Steve firmly believed if you were going to put lights on trees, they had to be colored like they had back in his day. They'd actually argued over it — in the store, no less, because they could have bought them online, but sometimes Steve liked shopping in a physical store — and Tony had threatened to pick up some god awful lighted flamingo until Steve said they would compromise and next year they could put white lights on the tree.

He was counting on Tony forgetting about that by next year.

He went into the kitchen, the lights coming on immediately upon entry, and he went over and set Olivia in her highchair then said, "Let's see about that coffee."

Olivia cooed and babbled to herself as Steve pulled the beans out of the cupboard. He closed the door and reached out for the grinder, and he dumped enough beans in to make a strong-enough pot and then ground them up to be relatively fine, taking a glance back at his daughter to see if the loud noise was bothering her. She was staring at the grinder, a confused and somewhat untrustworthy look on her face, and at that moment, the only thing Steve could be bothered to think was, At least she's not deaf.

He knew she had the serum in her — he just knew it — but there was still a part of him that wondered (or maybe 'worried' was the better word) that she would somehow develop one or all of his prior maladies. He knew it was a stupid thing to consider — a stupid thing to worry about — but it was always there in the back of his mind, taunting him and teasing him and goading him. Maybe he had been turned into a specimen of physical perfection, but there was no guarantee any children he might have would be.

To be...perfectly honest...he actually...well... There was a part of him that had wondered if he could even have children. Not just because of the serum. No, this was something that had needled him from the back of his mind — a thought to taunt him every time he so much as even considered a future where some dame (back when that had really been his only choice) had taken enough pity on him to settle down with him and raise a family with him. Always that little thought would crop up, taunting him, making him wonder if he even possessed that most base of biological functions. Oh, he definitely had that part of it — he could, well, get it up.

But whether or not he was fertile was an entirely different story.

And evidently one that he needed to wonder about no longer. He didn't doubt for an instant that Olivia had been conceived that first time he and Tony had done it after Tony had been turned into a woman. Unless there was something that space kook Esmeralda wasn't telling them and Olivia was really just a clone of some kind of Tony, then he knew for a fact he was her father. More than that, Tony was most definitely under the impression that Steve was the father, and if there were ever a shred of doubt in Tony's mind about that, then he would so vehemently argue for it whenever the occasion called for it. But Tony was not under the impression that anyone but Steve was the father of his baby girl, and he would go to his grave telling anyone and everyone that would listen that Steve had 'knocked him up,' and not a single one of their friend or acquaintances even doubted it.

He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, to be honest.

He suddenly realized he'd probably ground the coffee beans to a fine powder — caught in his thoughts as he was — and he shut the grinder off and pulled the top off.

Hmm...yeah...this was probably unusable at this point.

He scowled a little and went to dump the finely-ground coffee into the garbage disposal, but Tony grumbling, "Did I marry the paragon of American virtue or the fucking leader of a biker gang?" reverberated in his mind, and he stopped just short of dumping them in the disposal and went over to the garbage can and dumped them in there.

"See? And Papa says I never listen to him," he teased as he glanced back at the baby, who just turned her head to him and smiled and gurgled in response.

"Yeah," he said as he went over to her, and he bent down and brushed his lips over the top of her relatively bald head, fine wisps of light-colored hair being about the only thing there. "Papa grumbles a lot, doesn't he?" he cooed at her, and she gurgled happily and waved her arms up and down, smacking her small fists on the tray for the highchair.

"But we love him," he added and kissed her head again, breathing in that soft baby scent, his entire being warming at the thought of his family.

God, he loved his family.

He pulled away from the baby and went back over to the counter to grind up some beans for coffee. This time, he focused only on his task, and he was able to grind the beans and set the coffeemaker to brew in less time than it had taken him to grind the beans the last time.

"See?" he asked as he turned back to his daughter. "I'm not completely useless in the kitchen."

She just smiled at him, gummily and happily, then shoved a hand in her mouth and began to gnaw on her fingers. Steve watched a moment before he turned back to the cupboards and muttered, "I guess I should feed you," narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips as he opened doors in search of the formula.

This...was...where Tony kept it...right? God, was he one of _those_ fathers? Relying on his spouse to do and provide everything? Sure, he loved feeding her and always had, but Tony had pretty much always been the one to get the bottle ready — originally with the breast milk and then with the formula after the supply of breast milk had...ceased to be. He knew there was a part of Tony that regretted being so hasty in his decision to change back — that thought maybe he should have thought it through a little more or maybe just held off another couple months or so. He knew the whole ordeal had been pretty much a revelation to Tony and that Tony now knew his gender—

Was that the right word? He'd been able to catch on to a lot about the future these past couple years, and he generally thought of himself as a rather open and aware person when it came to social norms, but even he struggled to keep up with the change of attitudes seventy years had produced — not out of any desire to remain ignorant but because realizing or admitting you were attracted to both sexes was one thing, but identity in regards to that sex was another thing entirely. He'd taken for granted that everyone physically born man or woman identified that way. He always had. He was still working to accept the fact that not everyone felt that way — not that there was anything wrong with it, just it was something he himself couldn't quite understand because he himself had never felt that way.

Anyway, to get back to his point, Tony now knew his gender was more...fluid...than he had previously taken it for. He'd tried to brush it off — no doubt ashamed of this fact — but Steve knew the experience hadn't been as cut-and-dried for him as he'd tried to make it out to be. Tony had fought it at first, but he'd eventually come around to it, not simply accepting it but embracing it by the end, and even now, he occasionally caught Tony staring at himself in the mirror, eyeing, in particular, the parts of his body that had been most affected by the change, putting hands to himself and probably just...wondering.

He always felt like he was intruding on a private moment when he came upon that — no doubt he was — and so he would duck away quietly and either climb into bed or go poke his head in their daughter's room to make sure she was OK. When he met up with Tony later, he pretended to be none-the-wiser, and Tony never breathed a word of what he'd been doing, but Steve hated that he had to struggle with it — struggle alone with it. But he didn't want to overstep. They were married, and if some crazy space creature was right, they were soul mates whose lives had been intertwined for a very long time, but that didn't give him the right to force Tony to tell him what was bothering him. If Tony wanted to talk about it, he would — or he'd make those weird overtures where he didn't want to be the one to bring it up, but he would act so odd that Steve would have no choice but to ask him what was wrong. But he hadn't done anything like that yet, and if it really was bothering him the way Steve thought it was, he would bring it up when he was good and ready to discuss it.

Until then, Steve could do nothing but watch from the sidelines and hope Tony found his peace.

"All right," he said aloud, trying to pull himself out of his thoughts. "What do we have here? Where does Papa keep your formula?"

"_It should be in the wall cabinet beside the stove, Captain_," JARVIS stated. "_That is where Sir last placed it yesterday_."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Steve said and pulled open the cabinet door to find precisely what he was looking for. He pulled out the container and set it on the counter and said, "You know, sometimes I don't understand your papa," as he closed the door and went to grab a clean bottle. "Personally, I think the premade stuff would be so much easier for everyone, but he doesn't trust it. I don't think he really trusts this, either, and if he had more time on his hands, I think he'd either try to create his own formula or...well...try to produce it himself again."

He thought about this a moment, standing in the middle of the kitchen with bottle parts in his hands, and he wondered if that was also part of Tony's problem. For all the groaning and grumbling Tony had done from, well, the moment he'd realized what had happened to him, if there was one thing Tony really did seem to enjoy doing it was nursing the baby. Steve suspected it was partly a hormonal thing (as the reading had told him) and partly because it was something that only Tony could do — that this was something he and he alone could do for his daughter and he took a special pride in that. Honestly, outside of the conception itself, Steve was starting to even wonder what the point of the male half of the species was — at least, he was starting to wonder what the point of the father was. The understudy to take over the role of the mother when she (or he) was under the weather or just needed a break? Anyone could do that. Anyone could do what Steve was doing and what Steve did on a daily basis.

But Tony had been the one to do it all from the moment, well, honestly the moment she'd even been conceived. He'd done the gestating, the birthing, the feeding. Sure, Steve got up with her during the night, but that was only because he was a light sleeper, and he was up before Tony could even begin to wake up.

Plus, he felt he owed it to Tony to repay everything he'd done. Steve wasn't sure he'd ever be able to wipe out that debt.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, some voice in the back of his mind that sounded a lot like Sam's telling him he was only thinking that stuff because he still, to this day, felt that he was useless and needed to prove himself and his worth. Maybe that's what it was, he thought as he went about making the baby's bottle. Maybe it was just his old insecurities cropping up — that large chip on his shoulder he'd never quite been able to brush off — taunting him, teasing him, goading him with the 'fact' that he needed Tony and the baby more than they needed him. There wasn't a damned thing he could do that Tony couldn't do better — like making this goddamned bottle — and would anyone really even miss him, anyway, if he were to go? Everyone from his old life had moved on after he'd disappeared, why not this one, too?

He stopped, pausing in mid-action as he shook the bottle to mix the contents, and decided those were some pretty dark thoughts best left for another day. It was Christmas, after all.

Slowly, almost unsure of himself, he began to shake the bottle again, and he stuck it in the warmer and turned to his daughter, who, from where she sat in her highchair, had a spectacular view of the living room and the glimmering decorations therein. She sat, evidently staring at the tree, and Steve reached over and brushed a hand lightly over the top of her head, making her turn her attention back to him. She looked at him in a little curiosity before she turned back to whatever it was she had been staring at, and he brushed his hand from the top of her head and down the side of her face so that the backs of his fingers grazed her chubby little cheek, and he murmured, "You know, you really are the most important thing in the world to me — you and your papa. I know you guys could survive without me, but I...I'm not sure I could survive without you."

Olivia didn't acknowledge him, preferring to turn her attention elsewhere, and Steve brushed his fingers against her cheek again then turned back to the bottle warmer.

Once the bottle was done warming and he'd judged it not too hot to feed his daughter, he picked her up from her highchair and, baby tucked in one arm and bottle in the other hand, went back into the living room to settle down onto the couch to feed her. As he'd just crossed halfway through the room, stepping aside of bundles of wasted wrapping paper gorgeously-decorated presents, the elevator 'dinged,' and Thor strode off wearing only a white undershirt and a pair of festively-decorated boxers, Mjölnir, of all things, in-hand.

"Steven, my friend!" he boomed, a broad smile on his face, his hair somehow neat and kempt even from just waking. "A joyous and merry Christmas to you and yours!"

Steve smiled and said, "Merry Christmas," in return then added, "Shh, Tony's still sleeping."

"Yeah, no he's not," came Tony's sleep-groggy voice from upstairs.

Thor frowned at the stairs a second, setting Mjölnir on the coffee table before he turned to Steve and said, "Forgive me. I did not know Anthony was still asleep."

Steve shrugged. "That's OK," he said and settled into one of the chairs, Olivia balanced in the crook of his arm as he set about feeding her the bottle, her small hands slapped against either side of the bottle as she helped to hold it.

Well, that's what Steve told himself she was doing, anyway.

Thor settled onto the couch, taking the seat closest to where Steve sat, and he leaned forward some like he was aiming to conspire with Steve and said, "Might we have a word later alone? There is something I wish to discuss with you."

Steve stared into Thor's earnest expression a moment before he sighed and shook his head and said, "Don't listen to what Clint or Buck or any of them have been saying. There's no such thing as the Justice League outside of the comics."

Thor chuckled. "No, my friend, not about that. It is something, I should think, more personal for you."

This piqued Steve's interest, and he raised an eyebrow and sat a little straighter and said, "Something wrong?"

"No, no," Thor said and put his hands up as though to stop Steve's thoughts in their tracks. "Nothing—"

He turned his head as the sound of Tony clomping down the stairs caught his attention, and he turned back to Steve and whispered, "I will explain to you later," then smiled and looked back over at Tony. "A merry and joyous festivus to you and your loved ones!" he called to him, and Tony stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking completely sleep-rumpled and like he wasn't quite coherent, and he peered at Thor through narrowed eyes and said, "Yeah, this isn't Festivus, big guy, and under no uncertain terms will there be any Airing of Grievances on my baby girl's first Christmas."

Thor just stared at Tony, perplexed like he'd just spoken a completely foreign language that even Thor couldn't decipher, and he shook his head a little and said, "When do we commence with the opening of presents? I've most been looking forward to this Midgardian tradition."

"When everybody gets here," Tony grumbled and padded through the living room. "That had better be freshly-brewed coffee that I'm smelling!" he called back in Steve and Thor's general direction, but Steve knew the words had been intended solely for him.

"It is," he replied and listened as Tony fumbled in the cupboards for a mug and the sugar.

"I take it," Thor said, drawing Steve's attention away from Tony, "this is a time-honored tradition with you that even goes back to your youth?"

Steve thought about this a moment then said, "Sort of. This is a bit... We never had much money to go around. Some years we didn't even have a tree. We never had lights. They were too expensive. When I was really, really young, I can remember one year Ma put candles on the tree, and we had to stand there with a bucket of water and keep a watch over it just in case it went up in flames. And wrapping paper? Forget it! Completely useless and too expensive at that. And I got... I never got much. I remember one year I wanted a Lionel train set. Every kid my age did. But I knew they were expensive, and Ma couldn't afford it, so I, ah, wrote a letter to Santa asking him if he could bring me one because I knew my ma didn't have the money for it. And I asked him to bring something nice for my ma, too, because she deserved it for all the hard work she did."

Thor just smiled at him, and Steve could tell he understood far better than he would sometimes let on. "I am certain your mother greatly appreciated your concern and well-wishes for her."

Steve shrugged. "I dunno. I hope she did."

"And did you get your most desired toy?"

"No," he said and exhaled a breath. "No, ah...I forget how she explained it. Something about how so many boys and girls wanted train sets that year that Santa's helpers couldn't keep up but that maybe next year he would bring me one."

Thor frowned at him, sympathy adorning his face. "I'm sorry, my friend. I trust your mother would have purchased one for you if she had had the means."

He nodded. "I know she would have. She just couldn't afford it."

"And did you ask Santa again the following year?"

"No," he said and shook his head. "That, uh, was the last year I believed in Santa. I found out the truth...sometime before my birthday the next year." He snorted a laugh and continued, "I, ah, lost a tooth, and I told my ma about it, expecting, you know, a nickel or something from the Tooth Fairy that night. When I woke up, I checked under my pillow, and the tooth was still there. It kind of snowballed after that. Found out the Tooth Fairy wasn't real. Realized none of the others were, either. Santa. The Easter Bunny."

He looked down at the little infant greedily slurping down her bottle, and he furrowed his brow and added, "Honestly, though, now I'm not so sure."

Thor chuckled, loud and hearty. "My friend, there truly is so much about the universe you have yet to learn."

Steve stole a sideways glance at him. "Are you trying to tell me Santa and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy are real?"

Thor grinned, and he focused his attention on Olivia for a second before he said to Steve, "They are real to the children of Midgard. It is a shame that Midgardians lose their sense of wonder as they age. When you are young, the world is full of possibilities—"

"And then you hit a certain point when you realize there are limits to what you can do," Steve cut in, arching an eyebrow at Thor.

Thor chuckled some more, and he said, "I believe this is where your bonded would say that you can take the man out of the Depression but you cannot take the Depression out of the man."

"Oh, is he complaining about the wrapping paper again?" Tony asked as he came back into the living area, balancing a large tray of coffee mugs and a plate of cookies in his grasp. He went to set the tray on the coffee table when he saw Mjölnir stationed right in the middle of it, and he scowled and nodded at it and said, "Hey, you mind moving that pointless paperweight?"

Thor just reached out and pulled the hammer off the table, setting it instead on the floor beside the

couch, and Tony set the tray down and muttered, "Still think that's bullshit."

"Language," Steve said without thinking, and Tony turned to him.

"You know that's going to slip out in the field one of these days, right?"

Steve shrugged but couldn't really think of anything to say to defend himself. Instead, he focused on the tray Tony had set down and nodded his head at it.

"What's all that?"

"Hmm?" Tony asked and turned to him, a hint of a teasing smile on his face. "Well, the little round things filled with liquid are called 'mugs,' and the—"

"I know that," he said. "I mean what's with the whole..."

"Uh, we have guests coming, Steven." He motioned to Thor. "See? Some of them have already shown up."

"If there is one thing we on Asgard can agree with you about, it is the filling feel of plentiful food and the joyous company of good friends," Thor said and reached out for a coffee mug and a few cookies. Tony immediately provided a napkin to him.

"Watch you don't get any crumbs on the furniture, big guy."

"You didn't want the living room getting a mess, you shouldn't have brought the food in here," Steve said pointedly.

"Yeah, well," he said and moved over to the tree to begin sorting through the presents, "that's what you do. You drink coffee and eat cookies and open presents with your family and friends."

"Really?" Steve asked doubtfully.

"Hey, that's what they do in the movies," Tony replied, and Steve watched as he moved presents from one place to another.

"Yeah, they do a lot of things in the movies that we shouldn't try in real life."

"Like May-December romances?" Tony asked and shot him a look before he went back to sorting the gifts of various sizes and wrapping configurations.

What a waste of money.

"Although," Tony continued before Steve could rebut him, "I'm not actually sure which one of us is the 'May' and which one of us is the 'December.'"

"Tony, stop," Steve said and rolled his eyes again.

"Mmm...I agree with Steven," Thor chimed in after he'd finished gulping down his coffee. He smacked the empty mug on the coffee table, and Steve cringed at what he could only imagine was a very large nick now embedded into the table, but Thor completely disregarded the action and instead focused on Tony.

"As I have understood the expression, it is not befitting of you and your bonded—"

"You're gonna call us that until the day we die, aren't you?" Tony asked, throwing a glance at Thor before he went back to the presents, and Steve saw he was dividing them into piles.

"I shall do it until you and he cease to be as such," Thor said with a smile.

"So, never?" Steve supplied, and Thor smiled at him in understanding before he turned back to Tony.

"You both still fail to understand the strength and power of your bond to one another. It is sacred and something few of your kind can ever experience. You know yourselves to be bond mates. You should embrace the blessing the universe has bestowed upon you."

"Hmm...you say 'blessing,' I say 'Steve, the poor bastard, is stuck with me until the end of time,'" Tony said without turning away from the pile again.

But Thor just shook his head. "You fail to understand. You are not 'stuck' with one another. You are bonded with one another. You are the perfect balance to one another. In theory, bond mates do not actually need camaraderie or companionship from any other being, and they are often most happy when they are left to themselves without interference from others."

"Hmm...you know, you're making that sound better by the minute," Tony said but still didn't look at Thor, and Steve found himself suddenly distracted by the baby, who had finished her bottle and was fussing a little, so he missed what Thor and Tony next said to each other, instead putting his concentration on setting the bottle on the table and patting her back until she let out a tiny and satisfied burp.

"My friends," Thor was saying the next time Steve was paying attention, "please trust me when I say that your romance is not in defiance of any law or tradition except for those which Midgardians impose on themselves. In fact, your being together may possibly be creating peace and harmony throughout the galaxy — perhaps as something that 'must be' in order for life as we know it to exist."

Both Steve and Tony stared at him on that, and Steve could only imagine they wore matching looks of doubt and disbelief at Thor's words, especially when Thor chuckled at them and said, "You are more in tune with each other than you can possibly know."

"Whatever," Tony said with a roll of his eyes before he went back to sorting the gifts, and the conversation thankfully changed from talk 'bond mates' to general disgruntlement at the early hour, as Jim strolled off the elevator at that precise moment, looking a little annoyed as he came into the living area wearing nothing but a pair of pajamas and a bathrobe.

"Really?" he asked, his focus solely on Tony. "It's, like, seven-thirty on Christmas morning."

"Merry Christmas to you, too, snickerdoodle," Tony said, his back to him as he continued to sort the presents into piles. "Help yourself to some coffee and cookies."

Jim just stared down at him a moment then pointed to the tray on the coffee table. "These the cookies you made?"

"Yes," Tony snapped in slight insult and threw a glance back at him.

"Mmm!" Thor said and sat up, one of the cookies in-hand. "They are most delicious. Our Anthony proves himself to be a masterful and formidable perpetrator of Midgardian feasts."

Steve watched as Jim fought very hard to fight the smile that threatened to spread over his face at Thor's characterization of Tony.

"Yeah, I don't think that's the word you want there," Jim said as he folded his arms and tried to

give Thor a serious look.

Thor didn't seem to realize Jim just meant he hadn't used the right word, and instead, he took umbrage at what he thought was Jim's disagreement with the sentiment.

"Indeed," he said, sitting up a little more as he bristled in Tony's defense. "Our friend Anthony is quite the masterful chef in the kitchen, and these cookies are as delectable as any to be found in your numerous Midgardian sustenance shops."

Jim snorted a laugh at that, and he went over and unfolded his arms to rest his hands on Tony's shoulders.

"Did'ja hear that?" Jim asked with a tease in his voice. "Your cookies are just as good as the store- bought ones."

Tony smirked up at him and said, "You know he meant it as a compliment."

"Yeah, well," he said and patted Tony's shoulders, "what he meant it as and what I took it as are two entirely different things."

"Love you, too, sour patch," Tony said, and Jim just turned and clapped Steve on the shoulder and said, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Steve replied and didn't fight it as Jim scooped Olivia up off his lap and settled her into his arms.

"And Merry Christmas to you, too," he cooed at her and smiled as she gurgled and pressed her face into his shoulder. "God, you're a cute one," he said and turned to Tony. "So, I'd say a 'little birdie,' but it more like a loud, obnoxious goose said you guys chose Pep and Happy to be her guardian in the event that you two, uh, you know..."

"First of all," Tony said, "thank you very much for that image. Whenever I try to imagine Wilson in my head, now all I have to do is think of a large, honking goose. I think it fits. Second, look, I didn't want to—"

But Jim shook his head and cut him off before he could try to explain himself. "No, man, I get it. I understand. I'd trust my kid with Pep before I trusted them with any of those idiots, too."

Tony frowned. "You're not mad?"

Jim tilted his head back and forth like he was weighing his options before he said, "Well, yeah, maybe there's a little part of me that's bummed at being passed over, but the rational and logical side of me says you guys made the right choice."

Tony actually seemed relieved to hear that — like he wasn't sure that passing up his best pal for his ex-gal had been the right choice.

"I mean, my name did at least come up, right?" Jim continued, and Steve couldn't gauge if he was joking or if he really wanted to know that he'd at least been considered by Steve and Tony. He threw a look to Tony for guidance, but Tony almost looked like he'd been caught-out before he recovered and said, "Uh, yeah, obviously."

Jim just raised an eyebrow, and Steve shook his head a little like he couldn't believe how... unsmooth Tony had been, but Thor just grinned and said, "I am sure the Captain and his beloved put a great deal of thought into their selection and weighed the pros and cons of all of those whom they would gladly entrust the health and welfare of their daughter."

"Absolutely," Steve said, finding that the lie rolled off his tongue a little too easily.

Thor smiled, clearly believing Steve's lie without issue. Jim just turned his disbelief on Steve and said a wary, "Right."

"You were definitely higher on the list than the birdbrain," Tony said.

"Whatever," Jim replied and rolled his eyes before he carried the baby over to the couch and sat down on the end opposite Thor. "So, we gonna open presents and be all happy and shit or what?"

There was silence for a moment before Tony looked at Steve and said, "Wait, how come he doesn't get a 'Language!'?"

Steve shrugged a little and said, "Well, technically, he outranks me."

Jim, the baby settled on his lap, made a face and nodded his head as though to say, _'Damn, right!'_

"I mean, even if it is Air Force," Steve added with a sly smirk in Jim's direction, and Jim snorted a laugh and said, "Please, the Army takes anybody. You actually have to have a few brain cells to rub together to get into the Air Force."

"They thought they were hot shit during the war, too," Steve explained to Thor and Tony. "Cocky, overpaid SOBs."

"Yeah, well, let's leave the military branch dick-measuring for another day, yeah?" Tony said and looked between Steve and Jim. "It's Christmas."

"And we're gonna have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny-fucking-Kaye, right, Tones?" Jim said, but the tone and the excitement in his voice made it sound like he was quoting something rather than coming up with it on his own.

And the only Christmas movie he could think of where Bing Crosby did anything that remotely resembled tap dancing was Holiday Inn, and that was with Fred Astaire not with...whoever the other person was. The name kind of sounded familiar, but he couldn't place a face to the name.

He shook his head to clear it of the useless thoughts, Nat and Bucky taking that opportunity to appear, strolling out of the elevator together, Nat wearing a pair of long-sleeved, flannel pajamas with what looked like candy canes on them, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, and Bucky in a long-sleeved maroon shirt and gray pajama pants. They all exchanged various forms of 'Merry Christmas,' with Thor's being the loudest of them all, and Steve watched as Jim caught Tony's eye and nodded surreptitiously at Nat and Bucky like he was trying to get information out of him about them. Tony just made a slight shrugging motion as though to say he didn't know.

Honestly, even Steve didn't know. He had a feeling, and he was pretty sure Bucky was smitten with her — Buck had always had a thing for redheads — but he was also pretty sure that Bucky hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone.

Except Sam, maybe. Much as Buck and Sam needled each other on a near-constant basis, Steve had a feeling they deep down actually liked each other, and an immature and irrational part of himself bristled a little at the idea that it wasn't just the dames that liked Bucky better than him. It was his own friends, too.

Someday soon, he was going to be greeted with the very unwelcome realization that Tony and maybe even Olivia liked him better as well.

Nat settled herself into another armchair, and Bucky eyed the cushion between Thor and Jim, but Steve got up and said, "Here, you can have my seat."

For all the progress that Bucky had made, and for as close as he'd seemingly become with Nat and Clint and Sam in the months since he'd stopped running and had come to live at the tower with them, Steve was all too well aware that there was still a long way to go before Buck was anything close to, well, normal again. He knew and he understood that the James Buchanan Barnes that now stood in his living room was not quite the same Bucky that he'd known all those years ago — and if he didn't 'know' it for absolute certain, he was getting there day-by-day — but Bucky had spent decades as someone else's pawn and puppet. The freedom he'd enjoyed during his run after SHIELD had, for all intents and purposes, been burned to the ground had been the first real independence he'd had since before the war, and Steve didn't want to give him any reason to think he'd traded one group of owners for another.

The thing was, until the legal aspect got sorted out — and Tony assured him that the lawyers were hammering it out and things were looking good for Buck — Bucky kind of was a prisoner of the tower. The Avengers had taken on full responsibility for the man once termed the Winter Soldier, and, god forbid, Bucky in any way snapped or went off the rails, the full blame would fall on the Avengers and, in particular, Steve and Tony as the leaders of the initiative. The one saving grace they had was that the brainwashing that Buck had undergone was never permanent. It wore off after time, as Bucky himself recounted, glimmers of awareness having been afforded to him and then snatched away over the years. Steve honestly wasn't sure about Bucky snapping and suddenly turning into the Winter Soldier. He was aware that his daughter's cries sometimes put Bucky ill-at-ease, and Steve couldn't even begin to imagine what Bucky had been forced to do over the years to where an infant's cries could cause the beginning stages of a flashback, but he wasn't afraid of him turning into a mindless killing machine — not through that means, anyway.

But Bucky had eventually confided in him — after Tony had already told him — that there was some more cleanup that had to be done; namely, additional Winter Soldiers that Steve was sure even SHIELD didn't know about and a book that held the sequence of words needed to trigger the Winter Soldier. Much as he trusted James Buchanan Barnes with his life — and, more importantly, with the lives of his husband and daughter — he knew he wouldn't rest easy until that book was in his hands and he was lighting the match to burn it out of existence.

Also, Loki's scepter was still missing and their trail of leads on that had been cold for some time. All-in-all, not the 'merriest' of Christmases he'd ever celebrated, but not really the worst. The first Christmas after his ma had died was probably the hardest one for him, even if Bucky's family had been kind enough to take him in for the holiday. And the first Christmas after Buck had, well, disappeared for the time being was softened by what he still couldn't explain but had come to accept as a glimpse at his future.

He looked to Tony, who was now standing in front of Jim and demanding to be handed his daughter, Jim arguing back that Tony got to see her every damned day and Tony not buying that in the least. Thor was on Tony's side, explaining to Jim that Olivia was his daughter and it was only a natural part of the mother-daughter bond that Tony would be so possessive over her. The 'mother' part of Thor's explanation made Jim shake his head in disbelief and Bucky grimace as he no doubt recalled watching Olivia come into the world while Natasha said something sly about how Pepper was probably allowed to hold the baby as much as she wanted — being the one deemed adequate enough to be chosen guardian in the event of Steve and Tony's early demises.

"I'm sorry," Tony said as he settled Olivia into his arms, Jim evidently giving in to Tony's demands, "is everybody pissed that they weren't picked?"

Natasha just shrugged and sank back into the chair, mug of coffee in her hands as she pulled her

legs up and tucked them beside her. "Just an observation," she said breezily, and as Tony sighed and explained — again — why he and Steve had chosen Pepper and Happy to be Olivia's guardians in the event of their untimely deaths, Steve let himself believe if only for that moment that it wasn't just a dream and it wasn't a hallucination. It was reality. He'd been shown a glimpse of his future at a time when he needed it most, and next year he would—

Jesus, where the hell would he be next year? If past-him spent the day with Tony and the baby, where did present-him go? Well, if that really had happened to him, he supposed he'd find out then.

~*~

Somehow, Steve found himself sitting on the floor with the baby, Tony sitting on the arm of the chair Bucky had settled himself into, as they passed around presents and tore into a terrible waste of money wrapping paper and flung bows around the room, thanking each other for gifts that were either thoughtful or mundane, Steve shaking his head at the mounting pile of toys and clothes the others had splurged on for his daughter. Not that his little bundle of joy didn't deserve the world, but it really did seem to be too much after a while.

They'd whittled the piles down to the last remaining few, and Steve picked up a small box that read it was from Bucky and Sam in equal measure, and he threw a glance up at Bucky and said, "You and Sam went in on something together?"

Bucky looked up from the acoustic guitar he was attempting to tune — a gift from Natasha, as it turned out — and he furrowed his brow at the box Steve held in his hand before understanding came over his face, and he shot a surreptitious glance at Tony and said, "Uh, yeah, we both kind of wanted to lay claim to it."

"Oh, isn't that sweet," Tony said and snatched the box out of Steve's hand. "You're already going in on gifts together."

"It's not like that," Bucky said with a laugh and shook his head a bit before he went back to turning the peg on the head of the guitar, attempting to match the tone of the string with the app on his phone.

"No?" Tony asked and looked at the tag on the box. "For Olivia," Tony said and looked down at Steve, who nodded and watched as Tony tore into the paper and tossed it aimlessly on the floor.

What a goddamned mess.

Inside was a small, white box used for clothing, and Tony pulled the top off and pushed aside the red tissue paper to reveal an infant's article of clothing — a maroon onesie with a 'Future Graduate' printed on it along with what looked like a school crest and, in smaller print, 'Rhode Island School of Design.'

Tony just held it up, staring at it, and he blinked a couple times like he'd blown a fuse before he looked at Bucky and said, "Is this supposed to be funny?"

Bucky just shrugged, moving from the bottom 'E' string to the 'A' string. "She should have options, don't you think?"

"It— It is a good fine arts school," Jim supplied over the sounds of rustling paper and Bucky plucking on the guitar string, and Tony turned to him like he'd committed the ultimate act of betrayal. He stared at Jim a moment, and Jim just shrugged and took a gulp of his coffee.

Tony looked down at Steve. "Did you put this idea in their heads?"

"I didn't say a word," he replied, and honestly, he hadn't. Clearly this was something they'd come up with completely on their own, though whether it was before or after yesterday's conversation was anyone's guess. If it was after, Steve could only marvel at the turnaround on getting that apparel in time for Christmas morning.

Tony stared at him a moment before he turned back to Bucky and said, "Get out of my tower."

Bucky just snorted and concentrated on tuning the guitar, and Jim said, "Tony, don't be like that."

"You shut up, Brutus," he snapped and looked at the onesie in his hands like it might attack him at any moment.

"You know," Natasha mused from the other end of the coffee table, "if she is your daughter, why can't she do both? She could study engineering and pottery."

Tony just looked at her, cocking his head to the side as though to ask, _'Really?'_ and Steve reached up and took the little article of clothing out of his hands and said, "Nat's right. She's our daughter. She could easily do both if she wanted. There's no question she'll be smart enough and talented enough to."

Tony just turned his bemused confusion on Steve, and Steve reached over and set the onesie aside with the other outfits she'd gotten from her aunts and uncles.

"Fine," Tony muttered after a moment. "I suppose it would be...hypocritical to encourage you and discourage her."

"Encourage me?" Steve asked and cocked an eyebrow.

Tony tweaked a smile and got to his feet. He scratched the back of his head and said, "Yeah, uh... Follow me?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Depends on how you react."

"To?"

Tony just nodded his head toward the elevator, and Steve nodded his understanding before he passed the baby off to Tony and got to his feet, and he followed Tony over, feeling a presence behind him. He turned to see the other four all creeping along behind them, and at his questioning look, Natasha simply said, "We want to see what it's about, too."

"I don't—" he started to say, but Tony stepped onto the elevator and said, "It's not really that interesting."

"Oh, man, it's not something...weird, is it?" Jim asked, a squeamish look on his face.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm gonna bring along my infant daughter for something like that."

"Really?" Bucky asked, a similar squeamish look to Jim's on his face.

Tony stared at him a moment, seemingly perplexed that Bucky would even have to ask that question, before he huffed out a breath and shook his head and said, "You people are ridiculous. No, it's not something weird. For god's sake, I have standards."

"Well, then," Natasha said and pushed onto the elevator. "Time's a-wastin', boys." She then smiled and cooed at Olivia and said, "I can't wait until you're old enough to help balance out this sausage fest."

"Please don't use that sort of crass terminology in front of my impressionable daughter," Tony said as the rest of the gang piled onto the elevator, Thor, for whatever reason, bringing Mjölnir along.

"Not gonna be slaying any dragons along the way," Tony said as the doors closed. "Really don't see the need for the ridiculously large hammer there."

"Somewhere, Clint's head just exploded from being unable to make a 'size of the boat' crack," Natasha mused, and while Jim snorted a laugh and Tony shot her a _'Really?'_ look, Thor completely ignored Natasha's comment and said, "If there is one thing I have discovered over my many years of life it is that one can never be too careful or too cautious," his tone seeming to indicate that he found humor in Tony's ambivalence to his guardedness.

"Whatever," Tony said. "J, take us down to Steve's old floor."

"What? Why?" Steve asked, but Tony just smiled at him and said, "It's a surprise."

They rode the elevator in silence until they arrived at their destination, and Tony pushed to the front and stepped off first as soon as the doors opened, and he turned back around and said to Steve, "Look, if you don't like it, I can change it back. It's no big deal. But I just thought... I don't know."

"Tony, what are you talking...about...?" he asked, the last two words coming out slowly and with a hint of wonder as he stepped off onto what had once been his own private quarters and now looked like it had been turned into a studio.

An art studio.

Gone were obstructive walls — well, the walls that weren't needed for support, anyway. In their place was wide, open space and bright daylight streaming in from the flank of floor-to-ceiling windows around them. There was a drafting table and canvases and a stack of sketch books, tarps and paints and an easel set up in a corner. There were charcoals and pencils of an array of colors, the entire area looking like something out of any artist's dream.

He swallowed, taking in the surrounding sight of Tony's gift to him — a gift he didn't think he could ever top — and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before he said a quiet, "Tony, I can't... I can't accept this."

"What? Why not?" Tony asked, quickly and on the defensive.

He turned to him, taking in the sight of Tony's brow-knitted concern and...embarrassment? Unease? Fear? Clearly, Tony thought he'd done something wrong.

"Tony, you went to a lot of work—" he tried to explain. "I don't deserve this."

The unease vanished and was replaced by annoyance. "What? Of course you do."

"Tony—"

"Nope," Tony said and shook his head. "Don't give me that. Stop playing proud little boy from the Depression. I have the money, Steve. This did not put a dent into my fortune, and yes, you deserve it. You deserve everything. If you're not careful, I'm going to buy you a gallery."

Steve let out a chuckle. "Please don't buy me a gallery, Tony."

"If you're not careful, I'm going to."

Steve sighed out a breath, and he reached out and put his hands on Tony's shoulders, the other four helping themselves to a tour of the room. "Tony," he said, "I appreciate it, and this really was thoughtful of you—"

Tony arched an eyebrow. "I'm getting the feeling you're going to say 'but' here."

Steve opened his mouth to say just that, but then he stopped and stole a glance around the room.

It really was a gorgeous setup Tony had constructed for him, and he'd been itching to get back to doing some art for himself. Sketching, painting — something to take his mind off of the concerns of the world for just a little while. It was his first love, after all. Soldiering was something he'd taken up because there was a war on, not because he wanted to do that for the rest of his life, and he had currently lucked into a situation that allowed for him to spend his spare time with pencils and paints. Maybe, if he was really good, it wouldn't have to be just his 'spare time' for the rest of his life.

He shook his head a little and turned back to Tony. "No," he said. "No 'but.' It's... Thank you, Tony. I don't even know what I could even begin to give you in return."

Tony made a face and adjusted his hold of Olivia in his arms, her eyelids drooping as it neared the time for her morning nap. "Uh, what? This isn't a competition. You don't have to get me something just as extravagant. Just tell me you like it."

Steve grinned, and he kneaded his fingers into Tony's shoulders and said, "I love it."

"Really? You're not just saying that to—"

He gave a slight shake of his head. "I'm not just saying that. I do love it, Tony. Thank you."

Tony seemed to relax at that, letting out an exhale and smiling some as he nodded. "You're welcome," he said then puckered his lips and went up on his toes to give Steve a kiss. Steve reciprocated, puckering his lips and meeting Tony's mouth in a chaste peck of the lips, and when Olivia let out her first whine of the morning, Tony broke the kiss and said, "Yeah, OK, time for your nap, baby girl."

Steve nodded and kissed the baby on the head, and Tony asked, "Coming?"

"No," Steve replied and nodded his head at the digs that surrounded him. "I'm gonna poke around here for a bit. See what I've got."

"Hopefully, everything you could possibly want," Tony replied, and Steve went to say he had everything he'd ever wanted right there in his arms, but he decided not to be that corny and instead smiled and dropped his hands from Tony's shoulders.

"It's fine, Tony," he assured him. "It's more than fine. It's perfect."

Tony hummed and said, "I wouldn't go that far, but OK."

He moved over to the elevator, Bucky and Nat and Jim following him over while Thor, oddly, held back, and Steve looked at the others and said, "Not staying?"

"Uh," Bucky said and made a face, "it's not my gift from my billionaire husband."

He just shrugged at them as they crowded onto the elevator, and as the doors began to close, Steve

looked over at Thor and said, "Not going with them?"

The doors closed, and Thor smiled and said, "My friend, as I mentioned before, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

Steve stared at him a moment before he exhaled a breath through his nose and nodded. He took a somewhat defensive stance, planting his feet about a foot apart and folding his arms, and said, "Is it about those Infinity...pebbles?"

"No," Thor said, his tone grave and serious. "That is a worry for another day." His face and his tone brightened immensely as he continued, "No, my friend, this is something that...I think will be most welcome to you, given our conversation of yesterday."

"Great," he muttered, oh-so-thankful to be reminded of that on Christmas Day of all days.

And then, from behind him, came an odd tinkling sound like ice in a crystal tumbler and a voice guaranteed to set his nerves on edge.

"Merry Christmas, Captain."

He whirled, arms out and poised to defend against attack, his gaze settling upon a lank woman with long, honey-blonde hair and bright emerald eyes. Her gown was the same pale, shimmering thing he'd last seen her dressed in, that cocksure smile just as annoying as it had been the last time he'd seen it spread over her ruby red lips.

He swallowed, reminded himself that Tony was upstairs and safe, and said, "What are you doing here?"

"My friend, it is not what you believe," Thor said quickly.

"Yeah?" Steve said, not relaxing from his tense stance, his gaze focused on the being before him.

"Indeed," Thor said, stepping in between them like even he knew Steve might very well try to take her head off. "You did not appear... enthusiastic about my offer to spend your days on Asgard after your loved ones depart—"

Steve cringed and relaxed just the slightest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come off as ungrateful."

But Thor just smiled in the warm and understanding way he had. "It is I that should apologize. I forget that you are not of a kind that is accustomed to living so long. You would find not joy in such a lengthened lifespan but misery, especially being separated from your bonded." He stepped away and motioned to the elegant woman checking her cuticles like she was bored. "It is why I asked the Goddess Esmeralda to come."

"Goddess," Steve muttered. He didn't care what she'd been able to do to Tony. She wasn't a goddamned goddess. "Swell. I don't see how she can help."

"Of course you don't," she muttered without looking at him. "For a self-described artist, you're the most uncreative being I've ever come across."

Steve went to snap back...something...at her slight against him, but before he could, Thor cut in and said, "The Goddess Esmeralda has many powers of which to speak. She can be most helpful in your desire to not be apart from your bonded."

"Oh, really?" he asked and folded his arms, scowling at the woman that stood before him, and she looked up from examining her nails to meet his gaze.

"You want my help, Captain, or don't you?"

"That all depends on what kind of help you can provide."

"That all depends on what you ask for," she replied, smiling up at him in that snide way that she had about her.

He really, really didn't think he'd have to put up with her ever again.

"I don't think your powers can give me what I want."

"Try me."

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, a pathetic attempt to calm his nerves and keep from thwacking her with one of the wonderful mounted canvases Tony had bought for him, and Thor — wonderful Thor — grinned and said, "I shall leave you two to your work," and departed, Steve not even able to get a word out before he was gone to the elevator that seemed like it was waiting there for him.

He watched the doors close before he turned back to Esmeralda, who was eyeing her surroundings with interest, and she threw a glance at Steve and said, "A gift from your bonded?"

He could have fought her. He wanted to fight her. He didn't.

"Yeah," he said with an exhale of breath. "I, um, I always wanted my own studio."

She nodded and peered at an array of oils. "He only seeks to make you happy."

"I know."

She looked up at him, sharp, like she was testing him. "And does he?"

"So much," he said without hesitation.

She nodded and strode across the room, that strange tinkling sound following after her. She came to a stop before the large floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows, and she looked out over the dreary cityscape of a mild but rainy Christmas Day and said, "The Son of Odin says you are troubled."

"Yeah? Does he?"

She nodded. "Mmm... Tell me—" she turned to look at him, "—why is that?"

"Excuse me?"

"What troubles you? You have your bonded. You have a child born of that bond. You want for nothing. What troubles you?"

Steve stared at her — at this creature that had taken it upon herself to do to Tony what he'd never asked for, practically upending their lives in the process — and debated over whether to take her olive branch or throw her out on her hide like she damn well deserved.

His better angels overrode him, and he took the olive branch.

"You probably already know," he muttered and took a seat on a chair.

Esmeralda nodded and pulled up another chair to sit down in front of him, facing him. "I have a suspicion."

He dropped his arms and rested his elbows on his knees. "I can't die," he muttered without fanfare.

"Hmm...that's not entirely true," she countered. "You're not bulletproof. I highly doubt you would survive decapitation—"

"I don't age!" he snapped, his anger and frustration that had built over the last day reaching a breaking point. "I can't age! I haven't aged since this—" he motioned to himself, "—was done to me."

Esmeralda just frowned at him. "I see."

"I don't want to—" He looked down at his hands and flexed them, curling his fingers in like that could somehow absolve him of the frustration now thrumming through his body. "The serum, it... it repairs my cells — keeps them from breaking down, replaces the ones that do. Unless someone takes my head off, I'll probably...live a very long time."

She nodded, mouth pursed into a tiny, thoughtful pout. "And you don't wish to—"

"I don't want to outlive my family," he said, blunt, sharp, and to-the-point. He shook his head a little and added, "Tony, Olivia— I couldn't— I don't want to outlive them. I don't want to stay like this—" he motioned down at himself, "—while they grow old and..."

"Die," she finished for him, saying the word he couldn't bring himself to utter.

"Yeah," he said and exhaled a breath.

"I see," she said again and nodded just a little. "That which has allowed you to join with your bondmate also curses you."

"Something like that."

"No," she said and shook her head a little, honey-blonde tresses somehow shimmering even with no direct light focused on them. "Exactly like that. You were born too many years apart to have found each other — to have united with each other — in the way that everyone else must face. Fate played a hand and allowed for you to find each other when you needed each other most. Your eternal youth is a blessing, but it is also a curse. The son of Odin is right. Unless you fall in battle, you will be cursed to watch those you love grow old and pass, and you will be left to live out your deepest fears. You will be alone."

Steve sighed out a breath. "Well, don't sugar coat it," he muttered. "Give it to me straight."

She harrumphed a little and scowled at him. "Ah, yes, that oh-so-wonderful dry sense of humor of yours. I'd almost forgotten about it."

Steve scowled right on back to her, and she waved her hands at him like she was trying to clear the air and said, "This isn't getting us anywhere."

"No kidding."

"Do you want my help, Captain, or do you not?"

He shrugged. "Depends on what you're offering."

She sat up a little straighter and blew out a breath. "Well," she said, "that depends on what you want. Do you seek immortality for your bonded, or do you seek mortality for yourself?"

Steve stared at her a moment, his eyes skirting over her face looking for some sign that she was being anything less than truthful to him, her own emerald irises dancing in amusement as she watched him.

"You—" he swallowed, "—you can do that?"

She thinned her lips, her eyes softening. "Oh, Captain. After what I was able to do to your bonded, do you really doubt my abilities?"

"Just don't know the extent of them."

"You cannot possibly conceive of it," she said simply, and Steve nodded as he tried to understand what she was telling him.

"So," he said, "you could...make it so Tony would live forever, too — or as long as I do, I mean?"

She shrugged. "Conceivably, yes."

"Conceivably?" he asked and arched an eyebrow.

"Well," she said with a light laugh, "I would need to seek his permission first."

"Why? It's not like you did when you...knocked him up."

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "How many times must we go over this?" she muttered. "Yes," she said and turned her full attention back to him. "I provided him with a body that could conceive a child. You, my Captain, are the one that knocked him up."

She said those last few words like they were somehow beneath her — like it was the phrasing of some poor, uneducated slob that couldn't possibly know better.

He could have fought her on that, but he decided not to, instead saying, "Still, you didn't ask questions then—"

"Hmm...yes, but you have since made me promise that I cannot do anything to him without first seeking his permission. If you wish to be that selfish, Captain, I think it would be best to ensure that your bonded wishes to live out the ages with you before you make that decision for him."

He rolled his eyes. "What about the other one then? Making me...mortal. Like I'm not already."

She hummed again and said, "You are not mortal in the way you once were. You grow older, but you do not age. You wound, but you do not scar. You have not changed one bit from the moment of your transformation — aside from your hairstyle and your apparel choices, at least."

Steve thought about this a moment. "So, I'm not a day over...twe— ah, twenty-five," he said, fumbling for the age at first as he tried to remember just how old he'd been when he'd been serumed-up.

Twenty-five. Jesus. He was almost twenty years younger than Tony. Physically, anyway.

"Hmm...in how your kind defines it, yes, I suppose so."

He swallowed and nodded slowly, blinking as he tried to take this in. "And Tony'll continue to age while I—"

"Remain as you are."

He exhaled a breath through his nose, staring off into the near distance. "How can you be so sure?"

"Mmm...I have my ways."

He snorted a short laugh this time. "Of course you do." He blinked and focused on her again. "Probably know everything that's going to happen to us."

"It's a possibility."

He nodded, and he let his gaze go a little unfocused again as he thought about what he was being offered — and how selfish of him it would be to take it.

"If I did," he said, shifting his gaze to focus on something to the side of her elbow, "I wouldn't..." He swallowed. "I'm of more use like this."

"Like what?" she asked, her tone surprisingly nurturing and completely devoid of judgment.

He motioned over himself. "Like... I have a responsibility. To be what— To do what— I'm Captain America," he finally finished, lamely, like somehow that was supposed to explain what he couldn't quite figure out to say.

"Mmm...yes, but you are also a husband and a father — and a good one at that. You bear those responsibilities as well."

He nodded but still continued to focus on something past her elbow. "But I don't...I don't have a right to—"

"To what?" she asked. "Take a break? Retire? Do something else? My dear Captain, no one is enslaving you. You're not required to do this — to be this...Captain...if you don't want to be."

But he shook his head again. "I was given this for a reason—"

"Indeed, but perhaps not the reason you think."

He shifted his gaze back up to meet hers again.

"Oh, my Captain," she said with a laugh, "there is more to life than trying to prove yourself useful to people that have long since passed. Perhaps you were given this for a reason, but it is not the reason you think. You are not an island. Nothing you do occurs — oh, what does your kind like to say? — in a vacuum. You are not the only person whose life is affected by your choices."

"What are you trying to say?"

She just smiled at him. "You are not alone, Captain. You may have been once upon a time, and that feeling may still be ingrained in a part of you, but you are not alone nor have you been for a long time."

"The Avengers," he said, attempting to read through the lines.

"Mmm...to a degree, I suppose. You are quite important to them."

He stared at her a moment, attempting to parse her words and their meaning, and something funny twinged in his chest as he let himself draw his thoughts and what he felt was Esmeralda's meaning to their natural conclusion.

"Tony."

She just smiled, her whole face softening and brightening at the mention of the name.

"You hear my words, but you do not listen. You are bondmates. You possess perhaps the strongest bond I have ever felt. Your lives — your souls — have been intertwined since time immemorial. You think you have a duty to people that you feel made you. No one made you, Captain. They did with potions and machines what I can do with a touch of the finger. They changed your form, but they did not change you, and whatever debt you feel is owed to them for that has long since been repaid. Do not continue to fight if your heart is not in it. You joined a fight because you believed in the cause, and perhaps you have now found a new cause, but do not dedicate your life to it just because you feel that you should to repay some debt that no one has any right to collect on. Tell me, Captain, what makes you happy? What makes you well and truly happy? When are you at your happiest?"

He stared at her, watching as her emerald gaze searched his face before he swallowed and admitted in a low voice, "When I'm home. When it's just me and Tony and the baby. When it's just the three of us, and there's no emergency and there's nothing that needs to be dealt with at that moment — when I can just...pretend I've taken Tony up on his offer."

"What offer?"

He exhaled a breath, almost ashamed to say the words. "Tony has said several times that if I wanted to...if I wanted to get back into doing art — go back to sketching or painting, maybe go back to art school — he would support me. That I could do that — that I didn't have to, uh, earn my keep."

She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Is that what it is? You feel even with your bonded that you need to earn your keep?"

"Kinda," he muttered and glanced down. "I should be contributing...something. I shouldn't just be living off of Tony."

"Even if he wants nothing more than to provide for you — to allow you the freedom to pursue your interests?"

"He shouldn't have— I should be able to earn my own way."

"Ah," she said and nodded. "I believe your kind has an issue with...er, handouts, I believe you call them?"

"Yeah," he muttered, "that's the word."

"I believe I heard something about your government paying you a considerable sum for, oh, how do you say, leaving you in a block of ice for seventy years."

He snorted a bitter laugh. "Yeah, they did, and I didn't earn one penny of that."

"Some would say you deserved more."

"Yeah," he said and nodded, "some would. Tony would. Tony said I should have fought for more. I thought what they gave me was too much."

"You may think that, Captain, but I assure you that is not the case."

"Whatever," he said and shook his head some, "the point is...I — I can't stop— I can't give this up. I have no right to give this up."

"But you might at some point want to give it up."

He stared at her, slightly open-mouthed, and he blinked a couple times before she reached out and touched a finger beneath his chin and gently pushed his mouth closed. She pulled her hand back and shook her head a little.

"I can assure you, Captain, the world will not think less of you were you to choose to walk away."

"What? You can see the future?" he asked, smirking just a little at her.

But she just stared back at him clear-eyed and said, "Mmm hmm."

His mouth fell open some again before he was able to catch himself, and he closed it back up again, swallowed once more, and said, "Could you...show me?"

She chuckled, light and full of mirth. "No," she said, smiling broadly at him, "but I can tell you that you will soon meet someone that can. I suggest to tread lightly."

He nodded, filing that information away for future reference. "But you know what happens to us."

"Mmm...more or less."

He stared at her some more, and he said, "Then Tony and I— We— Do we— Are we happy?" he finally settled on asking.

"Are you happy now?" she asked in lieu of answering.

He nodded. "Yeah," he said, meaning every ounce of the word.

"Then I think that should bode well for the next forty-odd years."

"Forty," he breathed out quietly.

Forty years. They had, at the least, forty years left together. He did a quick calculation in his head, figuring that they had until at least Tony was eighty five and he was...well, twenty-five in appearance but well over a hundred and thirty in reality."

"Guess I really will be his boy-toy at that point," he murmured.

She just shrugged. "Maybe. It all depends on what you decide."

"What can you offer?"

"I told you. I can offer your bonded immortality to match yours, or I can offer you mortality to match his."

"Meaning? I mean, I know what you mean by immortality for Tony, but mortality — me. What would you do to me?"

"Make it so you age," she replied simply.

"That's it?"

"Is there more you desire?"

He thought about this a moment. "Would I just...age? Would it—"

"Would it negate the effects of the serum that flows through your body? Not entirely. You won't suddenly turn back into the sickly, ninety-pound man that you were, but it's possible you may find in years to come that your strength and your health begin to, well, come more in line with that of what your kind normally experiences."

He nodded. That...honestly didn't sound so bad. He could handle that. So long as he had Tony, he could handle that.

"How strange."

Steve frowned at her. "What?"

She gazed upon him, considering him. "Your kind desires nothing more than eternal youth and beauty, and here you are — a man in possession of such a blessing but desires nothing more than the chance to grow old with your bonded."

He thought about that a moment, thought about growing old — actually growing old — with Tony, both of them wrinkled and gray-haired and shuffling along and spoiling their grandchildren. He smiled a little at this — some dumb fantasy of him and Tony rattling around a small house away from the city, grandchildren running around and asking earnest and wide-eyed questions about the superheroics of their younger days.

Yeah, growing old with Tony sounded nice.

"Well," he said, safely and carefully tucking the fantasy away for another day, "who wants to live forever anyway?"

He shrugged, and Esmeralda sat a little straighter and said, "Are you sure? If you'd like, I can give you time to think about it."

He thought about this a moment then shook his head. "No," he said, "this is— I don't want to outlive my family. I don't want to stay like this forever. I want to grow old with Tony."

"Even if it means giving up what you still believe is your calling?"

"If you mean the shield, then...yeah," he said and, to his surprise, found that he wasn't forcing the words. He really did mean it. When it came down to it, in a choice between Tony and the shield, it would always and forever be Tony.

"All right," she said and stood up, that strange sound tinkling in the air. He stole a quick glance at her gown and looked for bells or charms of some kind — something that could be making the sound — but he gave up and shrugged.

Evidently, it was a feature and not a bug.

"Come along, Captain," she said and motioned for him to stand as well.

He sucked in a breath and slapped his hands on his thighs then pushed himself to his feet, and he stood before Esmeralda, who smiled up and him and made to put her finger to her lips.

"Not gonna turn me into a woman, are you?"

She paused in her motions. "Do you wish me to?"

"Not particularly."

She nodded her head like that sufficed, and she once again made to put her finger to her lips.

"It's not gonna be something weird, right? I— Look, it was an amazing thing Tony did and Tony went through and I am still just so...proud of him. But I just don't think I could do that."

"Of course you can't," she muttered, finger hovering over her mouth. "You're not made for that. You're not the creator. He is."

"So, I am just the sperm donor."

She rolled her eyes and waved off his concern. "Oh...of course not. You're more than that. It's just... You are the defender. Your bonded is the creator. Now, do you want me to make it easier to kill you, or don't you?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, it won't be apparent overnight, but it will... There may very well come a time when it will almost seem like you never had the serum in your veins at all."

Steve thought about this a moment then said, "But not tomorrow."

"Decades," she said and rolled her eyes again. "You have a few good years left ahead of you. Trust me on this, Captain."

He sighed out a breath. "Fine."

She nodded. "Good. Now, may I, or do you have some other asinine question you wish to ask? A trait you appear to have picked up from your bonded, I might add."

"Just make it so I can age, huh?"

"As you wish," she said and touched her finger to her lips. Steve had only a second to think that this could be a mistake — that she could be pulling some other trick on him — and he was about to back away and say maybe he'd take a night or two to think about it when he felt her fingertip press against his lips, and something warm and slightly electric coursed through his body. He sucked in a quiet breath, expecting to find himself flat on his back in the next moment — like what had happened to Tony each time she'd turned him — but instead, the tingle of warm electricity filled him from his head down to his toes and then dissipated.

He blinked, frowning, and Esmeralda stepped away from him like it had all gone according to plan. He looked down at his hands like somehow they held the answer to everything then looked back up at Esmeralda and said, "Uh, did it work?"

"Of course it worked. Why wouldn't it have worked?"

"Uh—" he scratched the back of his head, "—Tony usually ended up flat on his back."

"I have not physically changed your form. I have merely allowed for you to age," she said breezily, like that made all the difference in the world.

Maybe it did.

He looked back down at his hands again — at his arms at his torso — and looked up at her.

"Then...that's it?"

She shrugged. "That's it."

"But I'll age now."

She nodded. "Mmm hmm."

He nodded, slowly, exhaling a breath as he pressed his hands to his abdomen — like he would immediately feel the change done to his body.

"There's nothing there that shouldn't be there," she muttered, misreading his movements.

"No," he said, believing that she hadn't...done to him what she'd once done to Tony. "No, I just... I thought maybe I could feel that I was—"

She groaned and rolled her eyes once more. "My goodness," she muttered with a shake of her head before she looked pointedly at him. "Did you feel yourself age before you were turned into the peak of human perfection?"

"Well, no."

"Then why do you think you would feel it now?" she asked like she was exasperated from dealing with an idiot.

Maybe she was.

"Anyway," she said, "much fun as this has been—"

"I thought we weren't going to see you for a while?"

"Huh?" she asked, looking at him in confusion.

"The last time— When you changed Tony back, you said you wouldn't see us for while. You said if you left him as a woman, you wouldn't have to come back for even longer. That doesn't— Is this— Was this not supposed to happen?"

She smiled a little, slowly, a bit thin-lipped, like she was considering her words.

"Well, I suppose I could have been more direct and said I wouldn't see your bonded for some time. You, on the other hand... No, this was always fated."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "That which has already been written cannot be changed."

Steve stared at her a moment, narrowing his eyes. "What does that even mean?"

"You will understand in due time."

Steve continued to stare at her, stuck for anything to say, and she exhaled a breath and said, "Well, if you won't be needing me anymore, I guess I'll take my leave."

Steve nodded then stopped short and said, "Uh, are— I mean, are we really going to see you again then?"

She just grinned at him, broadly, green eyes twinkling. "Oh, I think you already know the answer to that, Captain."

Steve glared at her. "It's gonna be his choice, right?"

"Completely his choice," she agreed with a nod.

"How soon?"

"Um...well, I wouldn't hold your breath, as your kind likes to say, but I wouldn't get too comfortable, if I were you."

Steve stared at her a moment then said, his tone flat, "That didn't answer my question at all."

Esmeralda looked around the room, almost like she was considering it, before she said, "A child would make such a lovely gift this time of year, don't you think?"

Steve did a quick calculation in his head — clearly she meant to heavily imply that their next child would be born around Christmas — then said, "So, sometime next year?"

The conception could be no later than March for a December birth, he figured, but he didn't feel like going that far into detail. It wasn't like she would give him a definitive answer, anyway.

Still, this gave Esmeralda pause as she stood there a moment and thought about what Steve had said, and she tapped her chin a moment then said, "Possibly."

He rested his case.

"Well," he said after a moment, "so long as it's his choice."

"Mmm...it will be, Captain. I do think you may need to revise that half-a-dozen you secretly long for, however." When Steve set sharp, confused eyes on her, she smiled a little and added, "I told you, I know everything."

"You probably know how I'm gonna die."

She just smiled at him, which was answer enough for him.

"Anyway," she said lightly and breezily, "duty calls, and as I've told you time and again, you're not my only charges." But then her face softened into something exuding honesty, her eyes losing some of their harsh focus as she looked him over and tweaked a small, delicate smile at him.

"I wish you luck, Captain. Perhaps what you have done was for selfish reasons, but I know it cannot have been easy to give up eternity."

"Don't want eternity if I don't have my family," he said with a shake of his head and folded his arms.

"You will always have your bonded. Perhaps not in physical form, but you will always have your bonded. You are forever entwined with one another."

Steve merely nodded, and Esmeralda stepped back and said, "Until we meet again, Captain," and, in a flash of lavender and amber, was gone.

Steve grumbled and waved away some of the smoke she'd left in her wake, and he stood there in the silence of the room, looking down at himself like he could somehow see the changes that had been made.

And then, because he really, really couldn't entirely trust that being, he shot a quick glance behind him to make sure she hadn't given him a tail or something.

Seeing nothing — and feeling nothing (well, he had to make sure) — he made his way out of the living room and over to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and stepped into the room then stood in front of the mirror to take stock of himself.

Well, he decided as he scanned his form from head down to where the large mirror cut him off at the knees, he didn't see anything different. He peered closer, checking for wrinkles under his eyes or gray hairs that might have sprouted up in the interim. Nothing. So far as he could tell, he looked exactly as he had earlier that morning.

Maybe she'd just hit him with a placebo.

He sighed and moved over to the door, and he switched off the lights and made to go back to setting up his easel, but as he picked up the canvas, his fingers flexed around the framed cloth, and he suddenly found himself desperate to head back upstairs, something inside him screaming at him to go and see his family. Oh, it wasn't anything portending danger, he thought as he set the canvas back down. Just...some desperate need to see Tony — to put his hands on Tony and feel him in his arms and assure himself that Tony was, well, real and here.

"JARVIS, turn the lights off and close up. I'm done here for the day. It's Christmas. I'm going to see my family."

Steve left what had once upon a time been his separate quarters and went over to the elevator, the doors opening the moment he came within reach of it. He didn't have to breathe a word of his request, JARVIS immediately taking him back up to the penthouse.

He stepped off onto the floor once he'd arrived, surprised to find that the rest of the crew had seemingly disappeared, and Tony was alone restacking unwrapped presents beneath the tree. Steve moved over to him, fumbling for what to do with his hands before he just decided to fold his arms, and he stood just on the other side of a wall of presents and said, "Want some help?"

"What? Did you get bored already?" Tony asked without looking up, but there was a tease to his voice.

"No, just..." He inhaled a breath through his nose. "Wanted to come back up here with you guys."

"Hmm...miss us already, huh?" Tony asked, but again, there was a mirthful tease to his voice.

"Something like that," Steve murmured in response, the tone of which evidently didn't go unnoticed by Tony, who paused what he was doing and looked up at Steve, mirth having turned to slight confusion.

"You OK?"

Steve stared down at Tony's earnest concern — at those gorgeous brown eyes with the wrinkles at the corners and messy, dark hair that was beginning to see a small invasion of silver at the temples, at the neatly-groomed van dyke that Steve had no proof of but was pretty sure Tony touched up here and there with hair dye.

Maybe, if he really thought about it — really looked — he could see where and how Tony had aged in the past two-almost-three years that he'd known him. He could delineate which hairs were silver where they had once been nearly black and which wrinkles had formed where the skin had once been soft and smooth. Maybe he could do that, but he didn't want to do that — look for imperfections. Tony was not a perfect man (and he himself was far from one as well), but those imperfections were not of a physical nature. Steve was the last person that could ever judge someone for what they looked like. And he would never judge Tony for that because Tony was gorgeous, and he knew that thirty years from now (forty, if what Esmeralda was saying was true), he would still feel the same way. Aging was a part of life — a natural process and something that had been robbed of him for too long. He would always look a good deal younger than Tony, and if Tony was OK with that, then so was he.

But unless he'd just been had — which was always a possibility — the gulf between them would grow no longer. Yes, he was sacrificing a lot of things for this, but the very thought of staying young while he watched his family grow old and die before him was something he just couldn't bear to entertain. So, maybe it was selfish of him, and maybe — no matter what Esmeralda said — he did still owe a debt to those that had done this for him, but he wasn't an automaton. He wasn't a machine. Maybe he had been created as a weapon, but he was a human with feelings and wants and desires. He was a man that had been alone for far too long and was terrified of being left alone once again. He had never really meant for the Army — for Captain America — to be a permanent thing for him. There was a war on, and he had signed up to do his part. Maybe he would have stayed in after all was said and done — made a career of it — but that had never been his intention going into it, and he wasn't sure that he would have even kept up the 'Captain America' mantle after the war. He would have just gone back to being Captain Steven Rogers. Maybe a major. Maybe a colonel. Hell, maybe they'd make him some one- or two-star general. But 'Captain America' was never meant to be permanent. It was never meant to last beyond the war.

So, why was he expected to keep it up now?

Maybe, in years to come, he could pass it off — hand it over to Sam or Bucky or maybe even Clint if he wanted it (Clint wasn't too bad with the shield, as they'd found out during practices; Bucky...was another story). He didn't always have to be Captain America. He didn't have to forego a personal life just to fulfill the world's desire for a public one. All Steve had ever wanted, really, was a little bit of security and a family to call his own — people to love and take care of, people to surround himself with when he grew old. He had that in spades now, not just one but two families: his extended family of Avengers and the ones that mattered more to him than anyone ever had or ever would — his Tony and his baby girl. And damned if he was going to lose either of them. It hadn't been easy, and he'd made some sacrifices, but he had a family now, and he wasn't letting them go for anything. If that meant giving up 'Captain America' — if that meant giving up being an Avenger — then so be it. He would figure something out. He always had. He was nothing if not resourceful. The serum hadn't given him that.

Tony was staring at him, frowning, concern growing by the minute, and Steve unfolded his arms and reached down to take hold of him, pulling him slowly and gently to his feet. Tony continued to stare at him, warily now, dark eyes narrowing as he skirted his gaze all over Steve's face — those dark eyes lined with those gorgeous dark, curly lashes — his lips thinned in something like a pout. He went to ask something, but Steve just smiled at him, and he ran gentle hands down Tony's arms from his shoulders to his wrists and said, "I'm...perfect."

"Well, yeah, that's already been established," Tony said, taking the wrong meaning from the words.

Steve shook his head but didn't break his gaze with Tony. "No, I mean I'm not just good or fine. I'm perfect. I've got everything I could possibly want right here."

And at that, he enveloped Tony in his arms and pulled him against his chest, relaxing with the feel of Tony's warm, sturdy weight in his embrace.

"Hmm..." Tony murmured. "Did you just go on an adventure with an angel named 'Clarence'?"

He chuckled, actually understanding the reference. "No, Tony."

"Three Christmas ghosts?"

"No, Tony."

"Did your heart just suddenly grow three sizes?"

"Nothing like that," he assured with a laugh. "Just...did some thinking. Realized how lucky I am. How much I love you and appreciate everything that you do."

Tony pulled back to look at him. "Are you sure nothing happened down there?" he asked peering at him through suspicious eyes. "No strange entities visiting you and showing you some horrible vision of an apocalyptic future?"

"Definitely nothing like that," he replied. Hey, it was the truth — well, at least it was true that there were no visions of an apocalyptic future.

Tony considered him a moment, peering at him, before he shrugged and seemed to decide if wasn't worth the effort.

"Whatever. I guess it's not really surprising. You're such a dork at Christmas."

He shrugged, smiling at him. "Yeah, well," he replied, as though he couldn't find anything better to say.

"So, when do you want to put in for our usual Christmas feast?"

"Mmm... General Tso's and fried dumplings?"

"I've seen you polish off a large container of pork fried rice in like ten minutes. No way in hell are you getting just that."

"Well, no," he said with a chuckle. "Probably get an order of fried rice. Some spare ribs. Couple of spring rolls. An egg roll or two. Maybe a wonton soup."

Tony just stared up at him, smiling, like he could not honestly believe what he was hearing.

"Where you pack that all away I'll never know."

Steve shrugged but didn't say anything in response, and Tony shook his head and pulled away from Steve.

"Well, when you do call, make sure you put in enough for the kinfolk. They're threatening to make a return visit later in the afternoon."

"So, we're alone?"

Tony stopped and turned back around. "Not entirely. Your child is upstairs taking a nap."

Steve smiled, and sauntered over to Tony. "Yeah, but we're alone? The others are—"

"Your pal's trying to teach himself some chords, and the other three went to scrounge up some more instruments so they could have a 'jam' session. Not sure if any of them know how to play a musical instrument, but it makes them happy, so who am I to judge?"

He shrugged, and Steve grinned and reached out to take hold of Tony's arms.

"Yeah," he said, dropping his voice as he slowly pulled Tony against him. "But we're alone?"

And suddenly, Tony seemed to understand what Steve was suggesting, a broad, knowing smile spreading over his lips.

"I guess you could say that," he agreed, his own voice going a bit deep with his response.

"You know," Steve said and pulled Tony into his embrace, taking Tony's arms and wrapping them around his waist before he put his arms tight around Tony, "we should probably preemptively work off some calories before we stuff ourselves full of Chinese. I don't know about you, but I ate an awful lot of Christmas cookies the past couple days."

Tony hummed and went up on his toes to nuzzle into Steve's neck. "Well, we wouldn't want Captain America getting fat now, would we?"

"Be a terrible thing," Steve agreed and rubbed gentle hands over Tony's back, dipping down to the small of his back and the rise of his ass. He ran his hands down, digging his fingers into the firm flesh of Tony's gorgeous behind, Tony's interest in their endeavor making itself known as it pressed into his thigh.

Tony tipped his head back and Steve crushed his mouth against Tony's, hard and fast and taking what he could from him, Tony giving and taking in equal parts.

Steve moved his hands to Tony's thighs and hoisted him up, Tony wrapping his legs around his waist, and Steve, barely breaking the kiss, carried him over to the steps, intent on wishing Tony a 'Merry Christmas' in his absolutely favorite way.

With Tony naked and sweaty beneath him, neck bared, back arched, writhing and moaning and begging to be allowed to come already.

~*~

The others showed back up for dinner, which consisted of everyone's favorites from their usual Chinese restaurant, and they sat around in their pajamas and stuffed their faces and watched Christmas movies before, closing in around ten that night, they yawned and made their excuses and filed out, wishing Steve and Tony a 'Merry Christmas' as they left.

Tony disappeared back into the kitchen after that, and Steve yawned and asked JARVIS to turn off the TV, watching as the screen went black, the only light now left in the room coming from the Christmas tree and the lighted garlands of holly that had been strung up by the windows.

Steve stretched his back until it cracked, and he made to go over to the windows to gaze out at the city below when Tony reappeared from the kitchen, two glasses of something in his grasp. Steve frowned and turned and waited for Tony to make his way over to him, and as he did, he motioned to the glasses Tony held in his hand and said, "What's this?"

"Hmm?" Tony asked as he held out a flute of champagne-colored carbonated beverage to him. "Nothing. Just something a little stupid, I guess."

Steve took the glass and sniffed at the liquid, coming away with the scent of something sweet.

"Sparkling grape juice?" he asked with a lopsided smile.

"Only the finest vintage," Tony replied back with a bit of a haughty sniff. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Steve replied with a smile, and he raised his glass a little, Tony matching him before they clinked the flutes together and pulled back to each take a sip. Well, Tony took a sip. Steve downed his in one gulp.

Hey, he was thirsty. And the carbonation didn't hurt too much.

"You have the manners of a Neanderthal," Tony said as Steve pulled the glass away from his mouth, but there was amusement rather than accusation in his voice.

Steve shrugged and considered his glass, smacking his lips as he did so. "S'good. Any left?"

Tony just shook his head, and he took another sip from his own glass as he took Steve's and went back toward the kitchen to fill up again.

Steve stood in the middle of the living room, the lighted evergreen partially obscuring his view of the kitchen from where he stood, and so he went over and took a good look at it for the first time since they'd put it up a couple weeks back, only now noticing the chintzy plastic Avengers ornaments that dotted the branches. There was a green Hulk and a mighty Thor and a suave- looking Hawkeye and a cool-as-a-cucumber Black Widow.

No Falcon, though. Sam was bound to be understandably unhappy about that.

And above them all were Captain America and Iron Man, both turned to face the other and bumped together like they were kissing each other. Beneath that was a keepsake ornament from the entire gang, one that probably hadn't cost much but was priceless in sentimental value. He felt his face inadvertently break into a small smile as he took in the image of the little cartoonish mouse with the Santa hat sitting atop a child's letter block with the words 'Baby's First Christmas 2014' spelled out in a soft pink.

The first of, with hope, many in the years to come.

JARVIS was still playing some Christmas music, low and unobtrusive, and something warm and comforting flowed through his entire body as his ears caught the soothing croon of Nat King Cole singing his version of 'The Christmas Song.' There was something familiar and homey about the whole enterprise — the decorations and the music and the time of night and the knowledge that his baby girl was upstairs safely sleeping in her crib — and for the absolute first time in his life — not just his time in the future but his entire life — he felt at peace with himself and with the world. He couldn't solve every problem or fight every battle. He couldn't do anything more than his best and hope that he was the good man Erskine had taken him for all those years ago. But he was safe and secure and happy—

—and loved, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, smiling as he turned to see Tony coming back into the living room with two flutes filled to the brim. Tony took a sip of his as he held the other out to Steve, and Steve took it from him but then set it down immediately on the table and reached for Tony's as well.

"What?" Tony asked but let Steve take the glass from him. "I thought you wanted more?"

"I do, but..." He set Tony's glass down then stood back up and snagged a gentle hold of Tony's hand to pull him close. "Just...for a minute."

"Huh?" Tony asked rather eloquently as Steve pulled him into his arms. "Oh," he said as he realized, melting into Steve's embrace as soon as his brain had made the connection. "You fucking sap."

"Yeah, well," Steve said with a slight shrug as he held Tony in his arms and began to sway with him ever so gently to the soft tune that surrounded them, dipping his head slightly so he could press his cheek to Tony's.

"I'm serious," Tony murmured. "Christmas makes a fucking sap out of you."

Steve turned his head the slightest to brush his lips over the shell of Tony's ear. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Tony said with a contemplative sigh. "Just an observation. I guess I can live with it until you leave me for someone younger and more attractive."

It was in Steve's nature to bristle and fight against that accusation — to pull away and look Tony in the eye and make him understand under no uncertain terms that that wasn't in any way true and he was never going to leave Tony because he got too 'old' for him.

But that was a move borne out of a defensive measure. So long as he didn't just get swindled, he had no reason to be defensive any longer. He would age the same as Tony would now. Sure, he would always look a good dozen or so years younger than Tony, but the gulf that had been formed between them and had grown at an ever-increasing rate from the moment they'd met would grow no longer. Steve would age the same as Tony would. They would get to grow old together, and if what Esmeralda was saying was true, they had another forty years together to find that out firsthand.

"Well, you know," Steve said, attempting to go with 'playful' instead of 'defensive' for a change, "you're not going to be my boy-toy forever. I might have to trade you in for a newer model at some point. Maybe I can get one that doesn't talk so much and can let me get a word in every now and then."

Tony made a 'pfft' sound, but he hadn't tensed up in the slightest, so Steve took that as a good sign that Tony was open to joking about their age difference tonight. "Please," Tony said, "you love that I talk as much as I do. It's one of your kinks. I don't know how that works, but look, whatever floats your boat, yeah? And besides, you're exaggerating. I don't talk that much. And if you think I do talk a lot, then maybe you just can't keep up, and I'm sorry about that, babe, but you knew what you were getting into when you married me, and yeah, sorry, no take-backs on that. The only way you're getting rid of me is if I crash-land in a giant fireball into—"

"Nope, not happening," Steve cut in before Tony could finish his thought, jolting him just a little to stop his words in their tracks. "No crashing into anything. I can't—" He stopped short and shivered, not allowing himself to finish the thought.

"Hmm... that's sweet, babe, but we are, uh..." He sighed out a breath and pulled away from Steve, and Steve frowned and watched as he moved away and made a face, running a hand through his hair.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, knowing immediately that something was up. Not necessarily because he was good at deduction but because Tony was making it so obvious.

Tony sighed out a breath that sounded a lot like a groan and fumbled for what to do with his hands before he decided on hugging his arms around his waist.

"Look, uh... I've kind of been on... I haven't been as active with the team as—"

Steve's lips twitched as he said, "You've been on maternity leave."

Tony looked up at him, and though there was amusement and a little bit of fight in his dark eyes,

there was also what looked a little like... shame? Embarrassment?

Steve frowned and went to ask what was wrong, but Tony continued before he could.

"Yeah, all right," he muttered, "I guess that's what it's been but..."

Steve stepped closer, every fiber of his body screaming at him to fix this and make it better. Somehow. He didn't know exactly how, but somehow.

But Tony pulled back, almost like he needed to make his announcement without leaning on Steve, and he said, "I don't... I'm not sure... We can't do it anymore."

Steve furrowed his brow. Tony had just vowed never to let Steve go until death, so it couldn't have been that—

"What?" he asked before he could help himself. "What can't we—?"

"I love being Iron Man," Tony said, sort of like he was answering Steve's question but mostly like he was still caught up in his own thoughts. "I love — It's the first thing in my life that I've ever done that I'm actually proud of."

"Tony—"

But Tony shook his head. "No, let me — I have a purpose and a mission with Iron Man and with the Avengers. Maybe I feel like I'm still trying to atone for forty years of sins. I don't know, but I — It's not just us anymore. It's not just you and me, and—"

"You want to retire," Steve said, trying to save Tony the misery of having to say the words himself.

Tony sighed out a breath and dropped his arms. "Not— That sounds so permanent. I don't want— Not retire, but... A break," he said. "I need— I lost my parents, Steve. I know how that... I can't do that to her. I'm sorry. I know... I know we make a good team, I know I make comments about co-leading the group, but... I don't think I can do it anymore— Not to the extent that I did. I don't... I don't want to retire. I don't want to permanently give it up, but I think... I really think we need to maybe agree that we don't go out in the field at the same time anymore. You go? I'll stay here. The most I'll do is fly remotely like I did back when I was knocked up—"

"Really?" Steve muttered at Tony's word choice, but he wasn't honestly annoyed. Hell, he'd been using the phrase himself lately.

"Yes, really, now don't interrupt this touching and vulnerable moment for me."

Steve chuckled and moved closer to him. "Tony—"

"And—" Tony said, backing away so he could continue his thought, "if I go out, then you've got to sit your ass back here. And if you can't agree to that then maybe you're not—"

"Tony," Steve said to quiet his babbling, and Tony miraculously shut up for a second, "yes," he stressed. "I agree. I completely agree."

"Really?" he asked, equal parts amazed and relieved.

"Yes," Steve said with a laugh. "Are you crazy? I've..." He grimaced a little and reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Honestly, I've kind of been hoping for a while now you'd feel that way."

"Seriously?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Uh, then why didn't you say anything?"

Steve shrugged and dropped his hand away from his neck. "Because. I didn't... I didn't want to be seen as forcing you. I wanted it to be your decision."

Tony arched an eyebrow. "So, what, you just assumed I should be the one to stay home? Why? 'Cause I'm the one that got knocked up—"

"No!" Steve defended, loud and firm, perhaps to counter the little voice in the back of his head that said yes. "No, not because... Because, honestly, you're a little possessive of that baby, and sometimes I think I'm not good enough to pick her up."

"You're her father, Steve. If anyone's allowed carte blanche with her it's you."

"But the point is you're so protective of her and, well, honestly, you're her primary caregiver. And I figured you would...want to...be a stay-at-home dad."

Tony sighed out a breath. "Yeah," he conceded, "I know. You're right. I do— I'm not gonna lie. I do want that. There's nothing shameful about it."

"Of course not," Steve agreed quickly.

"And I can afford it. So, yeah, I know, it makes more sense for me to stay home. Not saying you're not a big help and you're not her second-favorite person in the world, but, logically, it makes more sense for it to be me than you, and— Look, I love Iron Man. I love being Iron Man. Maybe I just love my daughter more."

"I'm glad to hear that," Steve said very seriously. And he was. He knew how much Tony loved being Iron Man and loved the freedom and the power and the reverence that came with it. Honestly, he couldn't blame him for it. But he felt equal parts relief and a swell of pride at the fact that Tony would willingly and gladly choose their child over the status that Iron Man provided.

"So, I mean," Tony continued, "it's not like it's totally permanent. I'm not taking myself off the team forever. I just— I think it would be best if one of us stays back here with her at all times — just in case. Just in case something... My baby's not going to be an orphan if I can help it."

"I agree," Steve replied. "I've been on my own since I was eighteen. Yeah, I've still got Bucky in my life, but not a day goes by I don't wish I could I could see my ma one more time. I wish she could have met you. I wish she could have seen the baby — and she's going to have at least one of us to drive her nuts until well into her middle age whether she likes it or not."

Tony smiled, but there was a good deal of sadness underlining it. "Yeah, well, unless you do something completely stupid and I can't figure out a way to bring you back to life, I think we know which one of us that's going to be."

Steve just shrugged at him. "You never know. And what do you mean bring me back to life? What, like Frankenstein's monster?"

"If the circumstances call for it, sure," Tony replied, easily and breezily — a little too easily and breezily. Evidently, this sort of thing had crossed his mind before.

"Well, just try to get me a normal brain," Steve said and reached out to pull Tony back into his embrace again.

"Not sold on the 'Abby Normal' one, huh?" Tony asked as he went with it, slotting himself into that perfect space that had been carved into Steve's frame just for him.

"Not especially."

"Mmm...I'll keep that in mind," Tony practically purred as he melted into Steve's embrace, and Steve gladly held him there, tightening his arms and running his hands over Tony's back.

"You do that," he said softly and soon found himself gently swaying with Tony to the easy rhythm of whatever song was now playing quietly in the background. They stayed that way for a few minutes before Tony murmured a sleepy, "Merry Christmas, Steve."

"Merry Christmas, honey," he murmured in return, turning his head slightly to brush a kiss to Tony's forehead.

As Tony relaxed against him, he looked out to the glittering city before them, and he said a little prayer of 'thanks' to the fates that had allowed him to meet this man, to marry this man, to have a family with this man.

And then, he closed his eyes and swallowed his pride and said another prayer of 'thanks' to Esmeralda for allowing him the one thing he wanted more than anything: the chance to grow old with Tony.

Though he was pretty sure he imagined her smug little "_You're welcome!_" he got in return.

He hoped he did, anyway.


End file.
